


The Empty Seat. (Original)

by orphan_account



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 03:51:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 86,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3473369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <b> Hi guys! Not gunna lie, this isn't a masterpiece. This is a fic I wrote in 2013 for FF.net. It did garner me a lot of attention and I appreciate that a lot, even so, I am quite embarrassed of this fanfic because it isn't written very well and is lacking in a plot. HOWEVER, it did also have some potential. </b>
</p><p> </p><p>  <b>Basically I'm reposting it because it seemed silly to have 80k+ words gathering dust in my documents and also because (and this is also a little embarrassing) On a Sunday morning, when I am usually hungover and chilling in bed - I like to read about my favourite pairing. There isn't much Fort Max/Ambulon floating around the internet so I made my own and I may as well make the most of it. </b></p><p> </p><p>  <b>This is a very rough re-post as I do just intend it for personal reading, therefore I'm sorry it's not laid out perfectly - I will possibly edit it in the future (When I'm curled up in bed on a Sunday morning ;D) </b></p><p> </p><p>  <b>ALSO, it's rated Explicit for a reason - for abusive relationships, rape and other nasties. </b></p><p> </p><p>  <b>Not a happy fic. </b></p><p> </p><p>The rewrite of this FanFic is available here "<a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2295326/chapters/5047712">The Empty Seat.</a> " I'm still in the process of writing it - it's based of this one but has 100% more plot and I'm not making things up as I go, which is always a good thing :D </p><p>Bye ^^</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Hi guys! Not gunna lie, this isn't a masterpiece. This is a fic I wrote in 2013 for FF.net. It did garner me a lot of attention and I appreciate that a lot, even so, I am quite embarrassed of this fanfic because it isn't written very well and is lacking in a plot. HOWEVER, it did also have some potential.**
> 
>  
> 
> **Basically I'm reposting it because it seemed silly to have 80k+ words gathering dust in my documents and also because (and this is also a little embarrassing) On a Sunday morning, when I am usually hungover and chilling in bed - I like to read about my favourite pairing. There isn't much Fort Max/Ambulon floating around the internet so I made my own and I may as well make the most of it.**
> 
>  
> 
> **This is a very rough re-post as I do just intend it for personal reading, therefore I'm sorry it's not laid out perfectly - I will possibly edit it in the future (When I'm curled up in bed on a Sunday morning ;D)**
> 
>  
> 
> **ALSO, it's rated Explicit for a reason - for abusive relationships, rape and other nasties.**
> 
>  
> 
> **Not a happy fic.**
> 
>  
> 
> The rewrite of this FanFic is available here "[The Empty Seat.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2295326/chapters/5047712) " I'm still in the process of writing it - it's based of this one but has 100% more plot and I'm not making things up as I go, which is always a good thing :D 
> 
> Bye ^^

“Is this seat taken?” Ambulon had to mentally steel himself before approaching Fortress Maximus. His fingers clenched his cube of high grade too tightly for a mech that was comfortable with the situation. 

Fortress Maximus was startled by his appearance. Ambulon hid his cringe well. 

“Uh, no. No it’s not.” 

Pity struck Ambulon. There were trace amounts of happy surprise in Fort Max’s expression.  Did the poor sap honestly think Ambulon was coming over to sit with him?  The larger mech’s face twitched like he was trying to speak again, but it was either anxiety or a silly excitement that kept cutting him off. 

Ambulon just wanted to take the chair and go. 

It was hardly shocking that Fort Max was sitting alone. What was shocking was that he’d managed to brave Swerve’s Bar by himself and was sitting closer to the centre of the room than Ambulon credited him with the confidence for. Which, Ambulon guessed, was probably why all the usual cliques had gathered in the peripherals of the bar - or maybe it was the other way round. Maybe, Fortress Maximus had been forced into the middle of the bar reluctantly because the all the quiet, secluded corners were filled and he didn’t have the gall to impress himself upon mechs that would rather not share his company for the evening. 

Ambulon however had a place among those cliques. He just required a token for entire. In this case it was a chair. And the only free chair in the entire room happened to be opposite Fort Max

He set his Energon cube on the table. Fortress Maximus shuffled back somewhat to allow Ambulon some space. 

His insides squirmed with embarrassment. He hoped he wouldn’t upset Fort Max too much, Ambulon was a medic, it wasn’t in his nature to wound people on purpose but if no one else was making the effort with Fortress Maximus... Ambulon didn’t want to be _that_ person. The one with the reputation, alway eager to help and then taken advantage of. 

The sooner he was out of this situation the better. 

Ambulon pulled on the chair - prepared to move with it but got a sudden and sharp jerk back. 

He could have sworn he heard someone across the room snort. 

Looking down he spotted screws anchoring each slim leg into the floor. _Since when?!_ He thought, wildly. Ambulon was certain he’d seen people rearrange the chairs before. 

  Fort Max was looking at him now, studying Ambulon like he was starting to suspect this wasn’t the friendly gesture he’d interpreted it as. 

Slag, now everyone else was watching him too. Even Cyclonus, who stirred from passive disinterest to impassive interest ... maybe, he might have just been intensely day dreaming.

_Just leave._ But Ambulon acted against his own instinct. 

He sank into the chair opposite Fort Max and tried to play off his earlier actions as an attempt to just adjust his seat. He shuffled a few more times to authenticate this theory. 

It was a guilty conscious that had put him into the chair, he didn’t bother denying it. But even if this whole evening inevitably transpired into something very awkward at least Ambulon could give the impression that he at least _tried_ to show some compassion. 

How very Autobot of him.

Fortress Maximus was just pleased to have someone to sit with even if they sat there in silence. 

It was a bit pathetic, the larger mech was aware, he didn’t really want company. Nobody aside from Rung (that _one_ time) had bothered to visit him in the Lost Light’s brig. He didn’t blame the crew for that...he didn’t excuse them either. 

Given the choice Maximus would gladly remain confined to his hab suite. But he soon learned he couldn’t stand the loneliness. It had a tendency to worm under his plating and frustrate him - turn him hostile and bitter. Rung had recommended this visit to Swerve’s and had given him instructions to just _try_ and integrate himself - just a little. Nothing strenuous.

But sitting alone in a bar full of happy people with curious, prying staring was a strenuous act in itself. When he walked in the conversation stopped. Completely. It resumed later, in hushed tones to begin with like the crew was frightened of him overhearing their gossip. 

Swerve had brought him a drink. A _free_ drink - just standard energon. It was a peace offering, non-refined because Swerve didn’t want to fuel a fire that could tear apart his bar. 

Now Ambulon was sat opposite him _fidgeting_ and constantly glancing to a point in the bar just behind Max where his friends were gathered: First Aid, Brainstorm, Trailcutter and a few others. 

If he wanted to be with them so badly why didn’t he just go!

Ambulon saw Max’s hands curl into large, potentially lethal, fists and took a long swig of his high grade. 

Over the passing days observing Maximus had become something of a novelty for the crew of the Lost Light. The unofficial, highly disapproved of but never actually deterred “Fort Max blows a gasket” count down clock was engaged and racking up the minutes. Bets had been swapping all week. For a split second, after Ambulon had taken the seat, he could have sworn he saw fists full of credits being swapped beneath tables. Suddenly, Ambulon became aware that he was now a key statistic in several bets and that made him feel awkward. People were anticipating Fort Max snapping and pummeling him into dust and Ambulon himself was beginning to calculate how likely that possibility was. 

He didn’t want to be dust. He hadn’t even finished his first drink. 

“So, how’s your day been?”

It sounded so forced and was so incredibly unexpected that Ambulon’s intake choked on a mouthful of high grade. 

He coughed and wiped the purple spatter off his lips.

“I’m sorry?” He said despite knowing exactly what had been asked. He just needed to buy some time to recover. Fortress Maximus seemed to rethink, a grimace twisted his lips and he avoided looking at Ambulon directly.

“I asked, uh, how your day has been?” 

Ambulon could see the others peeping from behind Max’s enormous treads stifling fits of giggles like they delighted in watching the objects of their focus squirm.

Ambulon sighed, deciding it was best to indulge Max who was obviously trying very hard to remain seated and not bolt for the exit.

“It’s been alright. Just, long...I suppose.” There wasn’t much more to say, unless Max wanted to hear about the many repetitive titrations Ratchet made him perform. Ambulon didn’t think so. But Max nodded along anyway, “Yours?”

Fort Max hesitated. Ambulon did his best not to flinch - _Oh Primus, here is comes_. He could feel his facial plating tense with the expectation of getting punched. But Fort Max just vented some warm air,

“Better.”

They both drank. The high grade began working its magic and soothed Ambulon. Fort Max didn’t have that benefit and remained rigidly hunched in his chair. 

Ambulon’s head flopped to one side. He tried to think of more to say, helpful conversation to pass the time and ease the pressure baring down on his larger company. But it was a struggle, there had to be boundaries and Ambulon spent longer acknowledging topics that should be avoided than making conversation. 

 

 

By now they were sucking up the dregs of their drinks and Ambulon was feeling generous.

“Would you like another?” He asked as he made to stand.

Fort Max‘ fingers curled round the edging of their table.

“No...I don’t have enough credits.” He muttered. Ambulon missed the depth in his tone, his self-conscious dissection or the muted traces of darker, fouler feelings. It was his mistake to press the matter when it was a tender subject for Max. 

“That’s fine I’ll get it for you.”

“Really, don’t.” Max sensed it was time to go. 

“Honestly I don’t mind, if you want one” - Max was pushing himself up when, without thinking, Ambulon reached out to stop him.

Fort Max jerked back, systems whining like he was frantically stalling defense functions before they could reveal themselves. 

Ambulon retracted his hand immediately. Fort Max briefly looked directly at him and Ambulon saw more than he could comprehend. 

His arm returned to his side and he became very aware of crushing silence spreading a heavy layer round the room.

Then Fort Max left hastily and Ambulon deflated back into his seat.  

*

 

“It was useless! I felt like an idiot...you made me look like a fool!”

“You’re not a fool, Maximus. You know stepping back into society isn’t going to be plain sailing. Don’t look at yesterday as a failure, look at it as your first steps.”

“Slag you and your steps!” Rung let Maximus shout. In here, in his office it didn’t matter and it wasn’t like Fort Max had any where else to vent his frustrations. If anyone else heard him speaking so nastily they might misunderstand. 

But Rung understood, as much as Fortress Maximus hated to admit it, no one except Rung had the patience for him, he thought, or would willingly face his mammoth issues head on. But that didn’t mean Fortress Maximus had to agree with what the psychiatrist preached even if it was for his own benefit. 

Rung was quiet, looking down at his notes in his lap. A growl of frustration rushed out of Maximus‘s vents...snapping at Rung was wrong, he was only trying to help. It was more than anyone else could be bothered to do. 

Aggression was quelled by exhausting waves of regret. Max returned to the berth and sat. The hydraulics in his legs heaving hisses. 

“Sorry.” He grunted. Rung gave him the classic, gentle smile of understanding. It was something Max was starting to find annoying because it always came after he’d acted rashly. 

“Why don’t you tell me about the positives?”

“What positives?”

“You said someone came to sit with you.”

“Only because he had no choice.”

“You don’t know that, they might have” - 

“Don’t! Don’t patronize me. It was the only seat  left in the bar.” 

“Okay. Who was it?”

“I dunno. One of the medical staff. One from Delphi.”

“Who?”

“I don’t... Ambulate...I think that’s his name.”

“Ambulon.”

“Yeah, him.”

“Did you know he was part of the team responsible for putting you back together after Garrus-9?”

Fortress Maximus looked mildly surprised...then mortified. 

“He never mentioned...” Something churned his tanks. When he was alone, on occasion, when he wasn’t clutching his helm or reliving nightmares, Fort Max wondered about the medics and doctors who mended him and about what they thought. His body really was a sorry sight back then and that was only on the surface, underneath the armor the real horror lurked. The corruption, the viruses, the... 

A sickness rose up his throat tubing, it tasted of humiliation and he struggled to swallow it. So he stood, again, and tried to pace off his agitation, but the room lacked space, it just made him feel trapped.

“Did you know that he used to be a Decepticon?”

Maximus chuffed.

“Well he definitely didn’t mention that!”       

“But does it matter?”

“Of course it fragging does!”

“What about Overlord?” The glare Max fixed Rung with was livid. Red eyes flared with outrage, how dare he mention that monster - how dare he compare anyone to him! “By the time he arrived at Garrus - 9 there were rumours his affiliation with the Decepticons was waning...does it hurt you more to think the mech who defiled you was doing it all for selfish desires rather than for a cause?” 

Maximus found the door quicker than Rung could protest and swung outside. 

The psychiatrists room was quickly sealed off and Fort Max hung in the corridor, resting his bulk against the adjacent wall. He held his hands in front of him and watched them tremble.   
Damn. 

Ambulon didn’t know where to look. He was at the end of the corridor, frozen. He’d heard the shouts made by Max and Rung’s little voice trying to compete with him over the puffs of air dumped by stressed cooling fans. He’d just reached the middle of the junction when Fort Max punched open the door and barreled out now he felt stranded in the centre of no man’s land not sure whether to move forward of backward. 

While he was still deliberating the stillus clipped at the top of the data pad he’d been delivering to Ratchet popped loose. It rolled down the pad and clattered onto the floor with excessive noise. 

Fort Max’s head snapped up. He glared and Ambulon just gaped. 


	2. Chapter 2

 It was strange. They hadn’t run into each other very often before their encounter at the bar - which was probably down to the fact Max was locked in the brig, but since then avoiding each other was...tricky. Their schedules must have coincided. That was a completely justifiable reason, what wasn’t so explainable was Fort Max’s tendency to invade Ambulon’s thoughts. 

Fortress Maximus: it wasn’t a bad name, now that he thought about it...maybe a little bit long but it was big and robust ... much like Fort Max himself. 

Ambulon stopped himself...what was he... why was.... _was he grinning?!_

“You alright there, buddy?” Asked Atomizer. Ambulon guessed his stupid expression was more obvious that he’d realised. He took a quick sip of his drink,

“Yeah,” He gasped, a small smile and a nod was all it took to reassure Atomizer. The other ‘bot turned away and continued nattering with Chromedome.

They were in Swerve’s...uh, again. But, really, where else was there to go on their off shifts?   
Exactly, no where. Swerve was making a killing.

It also begged the question: where was Maximus? Ambulon tried not to stare at the door too often but couldn’t help himself. He’d always been a dreamer. People called him quiet...or ignorant...he wasn’t, he just sometimes had a better time lost in his thoughts. 

The table they’d sat at last time was empty.

“Ambulon!”

“Wh - What?” 

“Come on mech, you ain’t said a word all night are you sure you’re okay?”

Ambulon stuttered somewhat, fortunately First Aid spoke up for him. 

“Ratchet had him running memos to Ultra Magnus all day.”

“Yeah...jus‘ tired.” Ambulon supplied. The others looked sympathetic, “If you don’t mind, everybody, I think I’m going to turn in for the evening.”      

They understood and waved him off, even Swerve shouted goodbye and Ambulon left the bar with a downward tilt to his posture.

But his melancholy was mopped up suddenly as he turned out of the bar and nearly wandered straight into Fort Max himself. 

“Oh!” He chirped, “Hi.” 

His out of context zeal put Fort Max on edge. 

“Hello.”

“I was just, um leaving but are you...are you only now going in?” His hands were flapping all over the place... this must be how Tailgate feels all the time: nervous.

“Yes.”

“Oh, where have you been?” As if it was _any_ of his business. Ambulon snapped his jaw shut and gulped. It was too late to retract what he’d said. 

“In my hab suite.” 

At least he was honest. But really, Ambulon found it difficult to believe. How could he just sit in his hab suite all day? Rodimus (Ultra Magnus) had been reluctant to assign Fort Max any duties which didn’t leave him with many options, brooding in his lonely hab suite was just common sense to Max when there was nothing else of desire available.

“Well, that’s um,” _Shut up! Just shut up before you piss him off! “_ Have a nice time at Swerves!” 

Have a nice time at Swerve’s, what was he thinking?! The poor mech was just going to go in there a sit alone just like he would have done the night Ambulon tried to steal the seat opposite him. 

“Yeah.” Fortress Maximus stepped past Ambulon into the hum of Swerves bar and brought the famed deathly tension to the atmosphere as per-usual.

Ambulon just wobbled in the corridor on numb legs for a time before he managed to reign his haywire-self into control again. 

His drowsiness had evaporated, he felt an urge to rejoin the bar wriggle about inside him but ignored it and hurriedly returned to his hap suite.   

 

*

 

“How was last night?”

“Miserable.”

“And the high grade you ordered didn’t help?”

“Swerve told you.”

“Mentioned it, I think is more what he did. He was concerned.”

“Medaling little tart!”

“Max,” Rung chided, his crazy expressive eyebrows doing a thing that reminded Max of his youth - like he was having a telling off, “Swerve was only trying to be helpful. Why did you order the high grade.”

Max shrugged, 

“It doesn’t matter, he wouldn’t serve me... and I didn’t have enough credits.” He wasn’t feeling very committed to today session. He’d considered not even turning up. But the idea of Rung calling Ultra Magnus for assistance was enough incentive to show his face. Max didn’t want to be seen being dragged to his therapy sessions - the attention would offline him. 

It was just today that... today he couldn’t be bothered. Not at all. He just wanted to leave and go where? He didn’t know. Back to his hab suite...Swerve’s...

“Then why did you want to order the high grade?” It was like Rung was talking at him from a distance. Max stared with a glaze over his expression. 

“Because there wasn’t anyone to talk to.”

 

*

 

He was on the night shift. Ambulon hated the night shift. The med-bay was a ghost town. He only had the rhythmic bleeps emitted from non-sentient machinery to keep him company - they did a better job at sending him to sleep.  

He allowed his helm to strike the desk he was sitting at and groaned. 

While Ambulon didn’t mind peace and quiet, he’d rather be lonely somewhere else. The med-bay was his work place, in the day time when people were popping in and out it didn’t matter so much but at night ... the place gave him the creeps. Just like Delphi and all the horror and tragedy he’d been obliged to mend. There were somethings he remembered that still stirred nausea in his tanks.

 

*

 

Earlier that day Fortress Maximus had confessed to Rung he was having trouble recharging. The revelation came shortly after Rung had kneaded some very sensitive nerves in Fort Max’s psyche. The pressure had been increasing incrementally all session. Rung thought they were making some solid progress. All Max felt was dread, so he employed a new type of delaying tactic. Rung saw it for what it was, staving the inevitable, but he indulged Fortress Maximus nonetheless. His reply was enthusiastic, he commended Max for having the confidence to confide in his therapist - like he should have been doing all along but that much went unsaid. 

He told Rung his room was too quiet and tried to play down the issue before Rung could start over analysing.

After some caution treading Fort Max coaxed Rung into offering him a solution before they started delving into the issue of ‘Why Fort Max thought his room was too quiet.‘       
Beyond that solution Max was unhelpfully aloof until the end of the session, deciding he’d had enough for one day and counted down the seconds until he could leave. The moment the session was done he stood, forcefully. When Rung tried to tempt him into reviewing the notes he’d made during the hour Fort Max shook his head and promptly escaped, Rung’s solution held delicately in his massive hands, ready to be tested later that evening. 

“Nocturne: Classics for relaxing and dreaming” An audio CD Rung had imported, as well as many other varieties, from their kind’s last visit to the mud-ball planet Earth.   

He’d also purchased a CD player made for small, fleshy hands that Fortress Maximus found ridiculously difficult to operate.

Eventually he managed. Pan pipes and chittering birds filled the room. He groaned. 

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Hunched on the edge of his cramped recharge slab Fortress Maximus exhaled into his hands. This really was pointless and he’d tell Rung as much in their next session. But at least it provided a suitable cover up for the glaring silence he couldn’t bare listening to. 

“Lights: Off.” And the room filled with darkness. 

He lay down, flat on his back with his arms and legs squashed together because there wasn’t enough space to drape them elsewhere. 

Soft chimes sounded from the CD player and other gentle, natural sounds that did have a soothing effect despite his misgivings. 

Tilting his helm he watched the door and savoured the feel of his optics dimming without command, beckoning him into recharge. 

Warm yellow light peeped under the door, the same light that brightened Swerve’s. He visited the bar again tonight, but he was more cautious and loitered quietly outside the threshold discretely peeking inside before deciding he’d rather not face the crowds and returned to his hab suite. His usual seat was available so his reluctance hadn’t been because a lack in available space, it was because of something he didn’t want to admit to. 

With his gaze unfocused he could picture the surprisingly jittery medic called Ambulon and a spectacular session of wondering began. Just little, silly thoughts, like what he was doing now, when would he be at the bar next? It was innocent and harmless but such things couldn’t be savoured for long, not with a mind as exposed as Max’s. 

Ambulon had been one of the medics who’d put him back together. That meant he knew _everything_ and while he might not have understood the cause behind some of the physical damage the viruses and corruption in his software could only be contracted in one very specific way.

Fragging. And lots of it, with many different partners all at once or, rarely, taken one at a time. Like they’d formed a queue.

Fortress Maximus squirmed and remembered the horrors he swore to Rung he’d forgotten. 

He had a repeat proscription, a drug cocktail, proscribed by First Aid and Rung in correlation. A handful of hard candies he had to knock back every night to take care of his malware infestation and two more bitter treats recommended by Rung that he needed to take twice daily after refueling to ... he didn’t even know what they did, or if they were helping. But Rung knew best so he chocked them all down. 

There was one other little super tablet he was only supposed to take on the ‘really bad’ days. Then again, what constitutes a _really_ bad day? He didn’t know, so he took the pill often and relied on it to give him the strength to get up the following morning. But he hadn’t felt its effect in a long time and his request for something stronger was firmly denied. 

Stupid medical staff. What did they know? Maybe Ambulon would be more understanding. Having been there to witness what he’d come from maybe he’d grant Fort Max this one little treat out of sympathy. Or pity. Who cared.

How could Ambulon stand to look at him? Knowing what he knew. Fortress Maximus’s weakness had been shamefully exposed along with all the other parts of him he fought to keep private. To preserve as his. 

He’d been reduced to four stumps attached to an immobile torso. Leaking profusely and weak because of it. Blinded and pleading with them to stop because they’d had enough, _he’d_ had enough. But they kept pulling at him, in him, hurting him. He’s exhausted  and desperate and it’s never ending. One after another after another use him until his internal components shut down into an emergency rem state. Soon after he wakes screaming, his captors whooping and shaming each other for allowing Fort Max to dip into recharge while they still moved inside him. It stirred another round of intense punishment that only ended when they refreshed his position. Debased. Then he heard that voice and wished he could be left at the hands of the lesser Decepticons because that voice held the promise of something much worse.

“Maxy.” Overlord sang, his tone rich with lust...for degradation. 

The sound of his door’s buzzer being pressed insistently jerked him out of a recharge Maximus hadn’t consciously fallen into. 

On the side unit the CD player was blasting some ungodly operatic tune accompanied by a female caterwauling.

The buzzer was pressed again. 

Fortress Maximus’ fingers had stiffly curled round the edges of his recharge slab, it took time to peel them out of the grooves he’d impressed in the metal. 

The phantoms of memories recalled in his sleep still had a chilling hold on his mind and...dammit was he carrying half a charge?! He engaged the lights and automatically checked the room, paranoid. There was no sign of Decepticons, unfortunately the charge he’d somehow managed to amass clung to his frame like itchy static. 

Great. How? _Why?!_ It wasn’t fair and it was embarrassing. The memory should have killed whatever libido he had left not antagonise it! 

It was Brainstorm standing on the other side of the door, Fortress Maximus had only allowed it to slide open a fraction.

“Hello!” Brainstorm smiled with his eyes, what Max saw was false, “You might not have realised this but you have a neighbour! It’s me. I live next door and, considering you and I are connected by a wall I thought you might consider me and, through doing so, be a bit more considerate when you start playing your avian tunes...and don’t stop playing them.” The light in his expression died. Brainstorm was tired, he wanted Fort Max to know. “And that goes for everything, when you randomly start shouting, when you feel the need to...uh, relieve yourself of charge. Just, consider your neighbour: Me. And that, unlike you, I work every day which means that rest, despite being a nuisance, is necessary. Okay? Yes? Say something you look like you haven’t heard anything I’ve said.” Truthfully, Fort Max had gotten distracted by Brainstorms not to subtle hint that he’d heard Max self servicing...or, _slag,_ was he picking up on the little tendrils of energy lashing off Fort Max’s hefty frame. “Fortress?”

“Yeah. I got it. No problem.” 

With that he closed the door. Hands moving over his chest to sooth the excess energy welling in his spark.

A new tune was starting on the CD. A crack of thunder rocked the room and startled Fort Max. He sprang back and pressed himself to the closed door in surprise. 

Nothing relaxing about that! 

He crept up to the CD player now emitting the sound of heavy rainfall and pawed at the controls his fingers were too wide to connect with. He poked and prodded it insistently, growing impatient when it responded to his charge and shocked him.

When the sound of thunder boomed again the whole contraption bounced on the desk. Without thinking Fort Max struck the machine out of panic and fury. 

There was a loud crunch then silence. 

“ _mmank eww._ ” He heard Brainstorm’s muffled voice through the wall.

A sigh gushed out of his vents of such magnitude it weakened his posture and Fortress Maximus gently lifted his hand on of the mess he’d created. Mangled parts and springs rolled and bounced under the side unit. He’d collect them tomorrow. Right now he just...just. He sat on the edge of the bed, feeling like he’d had no rest at all but not quite experiencing the need to try and return to his nightmares. 

The room was uncomfortably quiet again.  

He did his best to ignore it and rearranged himself on the berth, making use of what little room it offered. 

He sat, resting against the wall and tried to remember what he did _before_ when he used to have free time...and a charge tickling his circuits.

Oh yes. 

A grim chuckle shaped his face into a mean smile and he stretched luxuriously over the berth. 

_Sorry Brainstorm!  
_ His hands wasted no time in finding his interface equipment. 

“Lights: Off.”

Having something to focus on made him forget the silence to an extent that he could perform basic functions in it. 

Thick fingers rubbed shapes into his interface hatch, stirring some heat into the panel while his other hand teased the data ports embedded inside his thighs. That was a tingly feeling he enjoyed. The Decepticon’s never bothered teasing the soft spots, they just dived in for the kill. No! Why was he thinking of that?

Even if they had been responsible for winding up his arousal that didn’t mean he had to make them a conscious part of his fantasy.  

With a grunt he engaged the manual commands to slide aside the metal cover protecting his array. It retracted with a stiff jerk. Under the hands of Overlord it had been savagely removed, ripped from him with frightening ease. 

Fortress Maximus exhaled. Barring Garrus-9 from his thoughts wasn’t as simple as issuing one stern command. But he persevered anyway, teasing sensitive areas, tweaking the round covering of his spike.

The warmth of his charge surged up his thighs and gathered behind his groin, spreading slowly into his tanks.

_Come on_. He breathed out heated air.

The little cap over his spike cracked open, reluctant and unresponsive to the redundant force Fort Max was exerting. He wasn’t pampering himself he was kidding himself. 

Concentration was key, he made that assurance to himself, willing his spike to at least peek out of its housing. Instead his systems stalled, angrily gyrating as if voicing their malcontent. 

He redoubled his efforts. Daring to push the tip of one finger into his valve. 

“Auhh.”

It wasn’t the lavish, soppy greeting he’d hoped for. Just like his spike, the petty charge he nurtured wasn’t enough to engage his valve. 

He removed his finger from the dry heat. It was keen sensation, like rubbing sandpaper over the rubbery mesh and he hissed. 

_Frag._

_“_ Lights: On.” With disgust he looked down at his equipment. The bulbous tip of his spike was just poking out of its housing, “Shy are you?” He mumbled hoping to Primus Brainstorm didn’t have his audios pressed to the wall at that moment. 

Roughly, he rubbed his palm over the tip, it didn’t achieve anything - just more disappointment.  

The sound he made was loud and full of frustration. When he sent the commands to recover himself his body complied eagerly and he was sealed up again. 

Next door music began to play, real music, not like his crappy relaxation bird songs. It thudded against the wall and made Max’s processor throb. 

Okay Brainstorm, you win.

Deciding to give up on recharging...and everything else, Fort Max fled the room. Angrily he stomped down the corridor following the route to Swerves. By now the bar would be shut but the seating area remained open. Maybe he could sneak a night cap without anyone noticing. He highly doubted Swerve was meticulous enough to take note of his volume daily and just one hit wouldn’t worry his stock piles anyway.

He entered the bar with out hesitation but was taken aback to find it wasn’t deserted. 

Taken aback, but not disappointed. Because there was Ambulon sitting in their spot.


	3. Chapter 3

The bar was under a tighter lockdown than Fortress Maximus expected. A thick wire mesh protected the booze from pilfering hands. However, Swerve was not completely selfish; he’d set up a self-service dispenser free for the couple of night owls to take advantage of while they were absorbed in each others company. 

Ambulon’s smiles were shy, Fort Max didn’t smile at all but both felt infinitely content.

It took a lot of self management to be at ease with each other. Finding topics of conversation was, at first, difficult. But they eventually found a natural rhythm. Suddenly talking wasn’t such a hard task anymore and they didn’t feel like they were trying at all. 

“MM!” Ambulon gulped down his energon quickly, “Don’t get me started on First Aid! I like him don’t get me wrong but he’s just...just,” Ambulon expressed his frustration in a stat-icy noise and a sharp ex-vent. 

“You haven’t said a nice thing about anyone all evening.”

“No! I can say nice things it’s just that... the guy’s as scatter - brained as you can get... and you asked, by the way. I’m just being honest.” 

“Doctors always use honesty as an excuse to be mean, First Aid might be just what your field needs.”

“He’s not a doctor yet. That’s for your information by the way. And being mean and being honest is practically the same thing, anyone who gets offended by it is just sensitive.”      

“Are you a doctor?”

Ambulon scoffed and pressed his cheek to the warm surface of his energon cube. 

“No.”

“You mean not yet.”

“No. Just...no.” He sighed and sank down to the table, resting his chin there so he could brood comfortably. 

“How come?” 

“Ahhrrg, see! That’s another thing, First Aid’s a nurse. The Medical hierarchy goes like this: Nurse, Ward Manager - that is me, and then a Doctor. At least that’s how it was on Delphi. So, in that order, if anyone’s going to be a Doctor I’m entitled to be first choice but Ratchet’s all like, ‘Nooo First Aid you’re so full of new ideas and slag let me just fawn at your feet and lick your aft and I’ll just be standing there like ‘Hi, remember me, the other medic! Primus.” Ambulon’s hands swished about and Fort Max made the smallest of chuckles, “To be fair, First Aid did use to be a Doctor but I had to demote him.”

“And I bet you got a really kick out of it.”

“I didn’t! Actually.” Ambulon grinned up at his company, “I felt really awkward. I thought he was going to have some kind of episode and,” _Episodes_ and _Psychotic breaks_ two of the most prominently ranking topics on Ambulon’s list of ‘Things you shouldn’t mention in front of Max.’  “Uh, anyway, First Aid’s got this...really weird fetish for Autobot badges,” Hazard avoided, Ambulon got back into full swing, “He’s like that Wreckers obsessed guy, do you know the one? Wrote all those books.”

“Fistitron.”

“I haven’t got the patience for,” _Don’t say nutjobs, do not say nutjobs!_ “Obsessive eccentrics.” _Phew!_

“Shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.” 

“He’s dead?!”

“Yeah.”

“When? I mean, I might not have the patience for him but I read his books.” 

“Liberating Garrus-9, but that wasn’t what finished him off. He had some kind of mechanical aneurism.”

_Dammit!_ Out of all the things to bring up. 

“Oh, I um, didn’t know. Sorry.” Fort Max frowned at him, silently asking what he was sorry for. Ambulon fumbled. He’d had sparks suddenly extinguish and main energon lines rupture on the operating table but that didn’t compare to how nervous he felt right now, “Just, um, y’know, for bringing _that_ up.” It was debatable who cringed more. 

Fortress Maximus withdrew his hands from the table just as Ambulon had the urge to reach out and sooth some part of him. Ambulon jittered and Fort Max arranged his hands in his lap. 

It had all been going so well, back tracking now was a waste of an evening and they didn’t have much time before the day shift ushered in seeking a good-morning kick before they went about their routine. 

Primus, was it already almost that time? Ambulon shared his shift with Ratchet and after Ratchet relieved him in the Med bay Ambulon normally filled his tanks then headed straight to recharge. He didn’t mean to let Fort Max keep him up this long,  but he wanted to savour as much of his company as possible.

“You’re tired.” Max observed. Finally putting a crack in the overbearing tension. 

“What? No, no.” Ambulon sighed and rubbed his hands against his optics, “Yes. And I’ve got another night shift tomorrow...today even, a double shift as well.” He groaned, his shoulders shook as he quailed at the thought. 

“Sounds rough.” 

“Mmmm.” But then an idea suddenly lit up the inside his processor that tempted his face out of his hands, “Actually,” He said, sounding almost sheepish, “If you like...that is, if you have trouble sleeping again...you can always come keep me company.”

Something indescribable came over Fortress Maximus, his energy field fluxed and his expression became unreadable. 

“That is to say, if you’d like to, it’ll be really boring actually, just sitting around reviewing paper wor”-

“Definitely.” It was very certain response. He wanted to, Fort Max actually wanted to. 

“Great!” Ambulon chirped, acting on the swelling excitement engorging his bright spark, he cleared his throat and tried to get a stronger hold on his transparency, “Good, that’s...good.” He smiled, a gesture Fortress Maximus almost mimicked, “Well, I should probably get going.” 

They stood simultaneously, Fort Max’s decision to walk Ambulon back to his hab suite put a spring in his step. Primus Ambulon felt stupid and ... bubbly. _Bubbly_ like... _uhhh!_ he was acting like an infant and doing a poor job of hiding it. But what was most ridiculous, what really gripped him, was the sickly nervous fluttering in his tanks. _Yuck!_  

It was so trite...and it was a shame to say he quite enjoyed it all. 

When he whirled into his hab suite having just said a polite goodnight to Fortress Maximus he leaned against the door. 

“See you tomorrow.” Max had said. Ambulon had managed to wrestle his grin under control until he was safely out of sight. Then he beamed and did nothing to hide it.

Dammit, he had it bad... 

 

 

 

 

 

No! No! No! NO! What had he been thinking?!

Fort Max was trembling, he thought he was going to purge. 

This was bad, really bad.

Primus dammit things like this weren’t supposed to bother him, they never used to! 

He didn’t want to go. Sure, at the time when Ambulon had suggest it he thought it had been a great idea. He’d acted impulsively, so keen to spend more time with the mech to ... to have a friend. 

No, no, this was bad. In the quiet, alone in his hab suite he realised this. It had been a stupid decision. He couldn’t befriend Ambulon, the mech knew too much about him. When he looked at Fortress Maximus all he saw was probably what he’d tended to on the repair slab at Delphi. The sickening mess, the weakness and incalculable violation. 

Or, what if Ambulon expected something of him? Something Fort Max couldn’t give because he couldn’t get _it_ up! He might as well brand the words ‘out of order’ over his interface equipment to avoid crushing _those_ kind of expectations. Not that Ambulon would even consider dabbling in that kind of thing with him! Because quite frankly, who on earth would want to get involved and not only risk shouldering his myriad of issues but also contracting some highly uncomfortable malware.  

Hopeless and dejected Fortress Maximus sunk onto the edge of the recharge slab, systems roiled into such a frenzy that he’d began to wheeze. 

Okay, this qualified as a black day. His hand jerked out to the side unit where he’d neatly lined the capsules of all his medication. It was time to take the super pill and he hastily did so. Then gulped. Large hands curling against his thighs. 

...

This shouldn’t bother him so much. 

But it did and he didn’t think he could go through with it. 

 

 

“I want something stronger.”

“Now Max, we’ve talked about this before. You are on an adequate dosage for”-

“Yes but it’s not working!” Max’s frustration was getting the better of him. He paced Rung’s office, jaw set, shoulders rigid and fists clenched, just looking for an excuse to let the anger frothing inside to seep out.  

“You shouldn’t depend on your medication. I’m hoping to ween you off it entirely in a matter of weeks.”

Fort Max’s optics revolved and his pulse quickened.

“No!”

“Max.” Rung said, quite sternly, over the distressed whirr of cooling fans, “What’s changed?”   

“What?!”

“This agitation must have come from somewhere. Has someone said something to upset you?”

“No!” 

“Did you sleep better last night, how was the CD?”

“No! I mean yes, I mean.” Fort Max stopped pacing, “The CD worked just fine I’m just so ...” He’d chewed on his lips so many times he was starting to taste energon, “I’m just so sick of being like this!” He sounded desperate. The shrill tenor of his voice was so unfamiliar it frightened him and Fort Max dropped onto the edge of berth. Helm hung low, hands clenching the rim of the berth. 

The room was incredibly quiet. It bordered on the haunting silence he hated so much. 

On Garrus-9 it was never ever silent.  

Someone said to him when he boarded the Lost Light, ‘Nice to have some peace and quiet, eh?‘ and he’d _agreed_ with them because all he wanted was to feel calm. In that craved silence he learned he’d never be calm. Memories of sounds rang clearly in his processor that he couldn’t escape. There was no way of hiding from his own thoughts and they could be so cruel. 

“Please.” He whispered hoarsely, “Say something.”

Rung sighed and shifted around in his chair.

“I can’t change your medication Max.” _Lair_ , “But when you’re feeling like this you know you don’t have to suffer alone, or even wait for your next session. That’s the beauty of living on such a small ship, you can drop in any time and I’ll be prepared to council you. Although you must realise, to truly be of help you have to communicate with me...Max.” Rung spoke with a firmer tone, it was more of the commanding variety that Fort Max acknowledged automatically, when he lifted his helm Rung smiled, “You have nothing to be ashamed of, what ever is bothering you you can tell me.” 

Wrong, he had plenty to feel ashamed of. Fort Max did appreciate Rung’s genuine concern, it just wasn’t enough and he stammered. 

“I broke your CD player.” 

 

 

Any moment now. Ambulon breathed in and out, his sights were fixed on the Med-Bay doors. First Aid and Ratchet had gone, the room was his again and the night shift had started twenty minutes ago. So, by his estimations, Fort Max should be arriving any minute...now. 

The space in the doorway remained disappointingly vacant. 

Ambulon shook his head and regarded the paperwork he was supposed to be completing anyway to distract himself.   

It didn’t matter that Max was late, Ambulon was supposed to be working after all and working alone meant he could get the load out of the way and then spend the evening at his leisure. So he focused himself and diligently ploughed through the forms, completing risk assessments and stock intakes and - Primus dammit where was he?! 

Ambulon slapped the stylus against the desk and angrily stared at the door. He couldn’t leave his post, that wasn’t allowed. He just felt restless and slightly worried. What if something had happened to Max? 

No, nothing had happened, at least nothing life threatening. If it was that serious Fort Max would have already been here in the Med Bay with him, although it might not have been for the evening Ambulon envisaged.  

There was no prize for thinking up excuses on Max’s behalf. Ambulon just needed to accept he’d been stood up. 

Oh well. 

This wouldn’t be the first time. There was no need to get upset. No really, he reasoned with himself, there wasn’t. Fort Max was practically doing him a favour.

Ambulon tried to remember his feelings from the night at the bar, when he just wanted the chair. Nothing mattered to him accept the chair. That night Fort Max was just another patient Ambulon had patched up months ago and sent on his not-so-merry way. 

No, no, don’t get angry, it’s still pretty early on in the shift he still might turn up. 

Ambulon put his head in his hands. He couldn’t decide what twisted him more: being stood-up or the naive hope a corner of his processor insisted on clinging to. 

Being an Autobot makes people soft. Things like this happen, he needed to suck it up and get over it. 

Ambulon did so, he knuckled down to his paper work and marked it with heavy scores of the stylus. Too soon after he was slamming the stylus down again. 

He waited and waited but Fort Max never showed.   

 

 

 

To prove how much he did not care that he’d spent his double shift on his own last night, the next day when he visited Swerve’s Ambulon sat with his back to their usual seat. He also scolded himself for call it that because there was nothing ‘usual’ about it, they’d only sat there twice and further more there _was no they_! So he could get the idea out of his processor right now!  

He scowled into his glass, it was filled with something stronger then his regular taking, so strong that even Trailcutter give him an eye of appraisal. Solidly, Ambulon knocked it back then ordered another. That second drink was still in front of him now, untouched because the first one had hit him like a punch to the gut but he never let on. Ambulon sat quietly with his friends, listening to them babble and bitch.   

“Uh oh,” Huffer, who had a clear view of the door spoke up, “Tall, dark and hostile just walked in.”  Ambulon had to restrain himself from peeping over his shoulder to confirm his suspicions. 

“Hey Ambulon, psst,” Atomizer snuggled in close, “He’s staring at you.” 

Ambulon’s fingers laced round his cube.

“Aww, he wants to sit wid his fwend.” Whirl cooed, his long body swooping into the middle of the table for maximum attention. The others giggled and cawed,

“Fwend, fwend, table fwends.”

“Frag off, I’m not his friend.” Ambulon leaned back and grinned while First Aid patted him firmly on the back. It was just a laugh, they didn’t know what he’d planned the night before and he wasn’t going tell. So Ambulon chuckled along with them and started taking heady sips of his drink. 

Shortly after, they finished joking and Ambulon wasn’t the focus of attention anymore. Thankfully. He didn’t turn around once that evening and it made him feel quite smug. Even though the curiosity was killing him.

Time was dragging but Ambulon was determined to stay until the bitter end. It felt like he had something to prove. So, he choked down what he had left, ordered himself another and then another and hollered and sniggered with Whirl like they were best buddies. Laughing at Whirl’s scathing remarks until it made the others feel uncomfortable. 

“Time for bed I think.” Said First Aid: Nurse, Suck up, Mother. 

“Nah, not yet.” 

“But we’ve got a shift tomorrow.” He leaned in closer to Ambulon’s audios and hissed, “Ratchet will peel the rest of your paint off if you turn up hungover and I am not carrying you back to our hab suite!”

First Aid: Nurse, Suck up, Mother and always maddeningly right.

“Alright.” Ambulon muttered. After all, who was he kidding, Whirl wasn’t funny. When his processor wasn’t buzzing from high grade Ambulon honestly could not stand Whirl. Not many people could. Plus he’d already befriended enough nutjobs for one week. 

“Come on, buddy.” First Aid started tugging on his arm. Ambulon slurped down the last of his drink then stumbled out of the chair. 

Standing was a shock. His legs wanted to move in opposite directions. 

The crowd sitting round his table cheered after him. First Aid took control of Ambulon’s floppy arm and used it to wave at their friends as they swaggered toward the door and - _slag!_ Max was looking!

“Quick say something funny.” He whispered, only to First Aid’s audios it sounded more like Ambulon was gargling static. 

“What?”

Ambulon laughed heartily, nearly doubling over as they hobbled past Max’s table looking like participants in the three-legged sprint.

He was desperately trying to read Fort Max’s expression out of the peripherals of his vision without looking directly at him - that would be too obvious.

He gave up on the details but Fort Max’s sights were definitely fixed on him (So was the attention of everyone else in the bar but that wasn’t important.)

Fort Max was looking at him and Ambulon was, by now, nearly crawling in the opposite direction. 

_Here’s to you, Dick!_

 

 

First Aid, for all his flaws, was a good mech and, as he maneuvered Ambulon onto his recharge slab, Ambulon realised, a good friend too. 

“You gunna tell me what that was all about?”  

Ambulon, lying flat on his stomach, sprawled and aching, groaned. 

“No.”

First Aid stood over him and Ambulon just knew he was frowning. He could sense it in his EM fields. Condescending glitch, Ambulon decided to add it to his list of praise for the nurse. 

“You should get some recharge, we’re working a shift tomorrow.”

First Aid turned away from him and snorted.

“Ha-Ha.” 

 

 

Being caught between a rock and hard place - now that Fort Max had become acquainted with the unpleasantry it wouldn’t leave him alone and he was _sorry_. As he watched First Aid lead his drunken colleague out of Swerve’s Max felt something like responsibility nag at him, it was confusing. Was he some how to blame for driving Ambulon to make a mess of himself or was it that he wished to be in First Aid’s place, laughing along with the situation no matter how forced it seemed? 

He didn’t know. 

Shortly after he left as well. He couldn’t explain why, maybe it was because the loneliness was getting to him. But he’d been sitting alone all night, his circumstances hadn’t suddenly changed. Ambulon had left, he had nothing to stare at anymore but that shouldn’t make him feel lonely...no... , it was disappointment he was feeling. He hadn’t had a chance to explain himself. 

Avoiding the Night-Shift scenario had seemed like the sensible action, he never considered living with the guilty aftermath. Moreover he was just so cross with himself because his reasons for not going couldn’t be justified.    

Over-thinking was becoming his undoing. People and Doctors alike would proscribe a long, healthy recharge cycle so that his subconscious may order his thoughts. Too bad his recharges had the effect of feeding his psyche through a meat grinder.

By the time he reached his hab suite Fort Max had concluded recharge was best avoided if he wanted to stay sane. 

Considering so many crew members had already branded him the un-fixable kind of unhinged he really didn’t need to risk adding to that assumption anymore. 

Waiting for him outside his door was an unexpected package, gift wrapped with care in blue paper and tided with a red bow. 

Attached was a gift tag that Max fumbled with. Who ever packed this was obviously a great deal more nimble with their hands than he was. 

“ _Sleep well._ ” Read the tag and Max frowned. 

He was busy tearing apart the packaging as he entered his room. The lights flicked on automatically as the door whooshed open.

One more tug and Fort Max had ripped the packet in two, the contents tumbled into his large hands. 

A long white wire and - headphones! He realised, evidence of their creator clearly marked upon them, the audio-pieces were styled in the shape of Brainstorms head. Charming. And they were attached to an data-slug on which, Max discovered as he activated it, was a library full of relaxation music. 

Fort Max glanced to his neighbour’s wall and shook his head. Brainstorm was a genius, and a patronizing jerk off to have the audacity to tell Max to be quiet in his own hab suite. 

The dataslug he could give to Rung as compensation for breaking his CD player...the naff little headphones, well, he liked those better after he stood on them. 

 

 

 

The following day Ambulon was cursing himself. Surprise, surprise. His processor felt like it was bleeding out of his audios and his tanks _dropped_ erratically like riding over dips in a roller coaster. 

Ratchet was keeping an angry optic on him, he knew something was up, Ambulon did his best to ignore him and focus on the barely consolable Tailgate who’d popped one rickety hip socket out of alignment doing Primus only knows what. 

“Shhh.” Ambulon hushed for his own benefit, optics offline, trying to ignore the incessant keening and whimpering. 

“Oh, I’ve never had anything like this happen to me before, will it be okay? How did it happen, can it be fixed?”

“Of course it can be fixed would you just please stay lying down for me.” 

This was the third time Tailgate he tried to wander off the medical berth, like he didn’t seem to realise walking would hurt. 

 Ambulon didn’t have the patience for this today, he just wanted to moan and go back to recharge. 

“I’m going to get you some pain killers and then we’ll have a look at popping it back into place.”

Tailgate made a very small, unsure noise, his little white fingers twitched against one another. The huge, watery blue visor stared up at Ambulon apprehensively.  

“Is it going to hurt?”

_What the frag do you think I’m giving you pain killers for you retard?!_

“There may be a little discomfort initial, but it’ll all be over quickly.”

Tailgate quivered,

“O-Okay, thank you Doctor.” 

“I’m not a Doctor.” 

Was that the right thing to say? Was Tailgate going to flip out and demand to be treated by Ratchet instead, wailing until he got his own way? Ambulon hurried off to the medicine cabinet before the minibot could respond. 

He was as good as any doctor, and it wasn’t like he was about to perform surgery on a spark. Incidentally, he’d done that kind of surgery before, both he and the patient had survived. Admittedly, he had Pharma overseeing his progress but the point was that Ambulon had experience. He’d learned well and Tailgate shouldn’t be concerned at all. 

To access the medicine cabinet all the medical staff were issued a key card. A swipe action unlocked the door. Ambulon removed the vial of meds and when he was finished the door of the cabinet shut automatically. The loud click it made meant the locks had snapped into place. 

He was walking away from the cabinet, reading the directions on the back of the bottle. He’d performed this procedure a dozen times before but it never harmed to refresh his memory. For a small mini-bot he needed to issue a small dose. Common sense. 

It was a shame he didn’t have the common sense to look where he was walking. Ambulon nearly marched right into their latest patient.

“Primus, Max! You scared me.” And it really was a shock too. Ambulon’s hands were quaking round the bottle of pain killers. Maximus frowned down at the smaller bot and was deathly quiet, like he hadn‘t been expecting to encounter Ambulon despite it being his place of work. Whatever.

“Anyway, can I help you?” 

“I’m here to see First Aid.”

At that moment, Ambulon caught sight of the wrinkled slip of paper twisted in Max’s fist. Ah, the proscription. 

“He’s in his office. If you wait by the door he’ll be out shortly.” Ambulon waved him across the room. Fort Max knew where the office was, he visited regularly enough. 

Ambulon was walking away.

“Um, wait.” He’d spoken without thinking again, but it was something he needed to get off his chest. Ambulon turned back, slowly. 

“I want to speak to you about”-

“Yeah Max, I’m working.” Ambulon interrupted tersely knowing how much courage it took Max to build up the confidence to speak and not caring. He wasn’t angry (Maybe a little bitter) but he did get a thrill from cutting Max off with a snap, “I don’t have time now.”

“Later then, um, maybe. At Swerve’s?” 

Ambulon paused, making Max twitch under a long, evaluating glare.

“What time do you finish here?” 

“Not sure, it’s up to Ratchet to dismiss me.”

“Can you give me an estimate?”

“No.” Fortress Maximus’s expression sunk, lower than frustration into something more sharp. 

“I’ll just meet you at the bar.” Max mumbled, shuffling toward First Aid’s office as Ambulon resumed heading toward Tailgate. 

“I won’t hold my breath.”        

 

 

 

 

On his best behaviour Max sat in Swerve’s. Usual spot, usual drink, awaiting the usual company. Until Ambulon arrived he’d been glowering through a numb haze at the entrance. The bots coming into the bar caught him staring and waddled away sheepishly - heads hung low and shoulders up high, fearing cannon fire. 

But his weapons systems had been manually disarmed. 

Ambulon didn’t share their fears. Past misgivings were buried under a ton of exasperation. 

He walked into the bar, flatly nodded to Maximus then acknowledged the hollers of his friends: a gang of them, all crowded around _their usual spot_. Ambulon crossed the bar and joined them, but remained standing and partly detached like he had intentions of moving on shortly. 

Max sat patiently, awaiting his turn to steal some of Ambulon’s time.  

Next Ambulon bought himself a drink and listened to Swerve complain about a glitch in his optics. Ambulon indulged the mini-bot for longer than necessary before telling him to make an appointment with Ratchet. 

Finally he was standing opposite Maximus, not sitting, his cube of energon held steadily in his hands. Max brushed a hand down the side of his face, the side that felt as if it was rapidly heating under the stares of Ambulon’s friends.

“So.” Max rolled his lips against his denta.

“Fwend!” 

Fort Max didn’t know what that meant but Ambulon’s head snapped to glare at who ever had shouted it. Somehow Max felt like he was being insulted. Fortunately, before he could act on the burning compulsions rolling about in his tanks Ambulon tactfully sat in the seat opposite.

“Been doing much today?” Asked Ambulon, keeping completely calm. It surprised Max; why was he behaving like nothing was going on?

Maybe it was because there was nothing going on and this whole speech Max was concocting in his head would just bring him more embarrassment.

Max was paying more attention to his hands than he was to Ambulon. The medic frowned. 

“Are you feeling okay?”

Max exhaled and shook his head.

“I owe you an explanation but... I, um.” 

Suddenly Ambulon was feeling very guilty. He learned that there was nothing gratifying about making Max squirm after all. He should have been more thoughtful. Finally, he put two and two together, uncovering the reason for Fort Max’s no-show on his own.   

Max might be out of the brig now but the issues he suffered with hadn’t just evaporated. Issues that caused him great embarrassment and pain. As a medic Ambulon should have recognised this. It was his job to identify and respect vulnerability and he certainly wasn’t supposed to put his personal gripes ahead of his responsibility to Max’s welfare. 

Fort Max was a patient. Intimacy with patients was prohibited, relationships were meant to be kept platonic. Professionalism was everything in his career, if Ratchet caught wind of this slip up he could be disciplined. 

“No Max,” His smile was soft and accepting, “I’m sorry. It’s my fault and I regret making you feel uncomfortable.” 

Fort Max felt like he was meeting a different person. Impartial and professional, this version of Ambulon had no personality to grasp.

“Please, don’t think about it anymore and enjoy your evening.”  

And then Ambulon stood, nodded politely and rejoined his friends on the other table.


	4. Chapter 4

The buzzer was being pushed again. Ambulon had hoped, after ignoring three rings who ever it was on the other side of the door would just  give up and leave him in peace. Alas, no luck. 

He’d been so comfortable in his recharge, whoever was responsible for disturbing him deserved to suffer. 

His optics cycled dimly. The room was dark but he could tell First Aid’s berth was empty. Of course, as his senses roused, Ambulon remember, First Aid was working the night shift. 

Gradually he lifted his body - which was still half asleep - off the the recharge slab just enough to glance along the counters and sure enough he spotted First Aid’s key to the Medicine Cabinet lying on one of them. Forgotten, again.

Ambulon growled.

The buzzer rang again. 

“What’s the matter?!” He barked at the door as he disconnect himself from the wires and relays tangling him to the berth, “Forget something? Your dignity maybe?” 

His foggy mind failed to remember if it was First Aid on the other side of the door the nurse could let himself in, it was a shared Hab Suite after all.

But Ambulon was too groggy to consider that. 

He stomped toward the door, snatching the Cabinet key off the unit as he swept past and as he punched the door controls he readied himself by shaping his facial features into a glare so intense he hoped it would melt a hole through First Aid’s head. 

The door parted and light from the hallway stung his optics. 

After the dazzle cleared, instead of First Aid’s head he was glaring into some very tense abdominal plating.

Surprise quickly subdued frustration. His gaze travelled up...and up.

“Max?”

“You didn’t let me finish.” Max thrust a finger at Ambulon who, struggled to comprehend what he was being accused of.

“I, um...what?” He glanced up and down the corridor, still expecting to see First Aid.

“I had something to say to you at the bar and you didn’t let me finish.” 

“Oh, well, um...sorry? You don’t have to explain yourself to me though Max, I get it, honestly, I do.”

Max’s resolution was firm. He frowned down at Ambulon. This wasn’t going to be a conversation he could duck out of again. Fort Max had him cornered. 

“No, you do not get _it_. And you never will unless you let me talk.”

Then it was quiet. 

Ambulon just waited, nodding his head, trying to prompt something more from Maximus but the larger mech had lost himself to self-consciousness. 

“...Okay,” This pause was getting unbearable, “Then talk, but if you don’t say something soon I’m going to go back to recharge and you can have a conversation with the door.” Pangs of sympathy struck Ambulon when Fort Max couldn’t keep his head up anymore and he realised he was being harsh. A sigh escaped him. 

Painfully aware of how long this might take but he stood aside anyway and offered Max entrance to the hab suite. It was the considerate thing to do. Who needs recharge anyway? 

Maximus shuffled inside. He flinched when the door closed behind him, only, from Ambulon’s perspective, it was more like watching a building trying to skip. 

The lights were flicked on and Ambulon wandered over to his recharge slap, tucking away the disorderly cables and connectors. 

“I thought you were going to be First Aid, the drip left his medical Key Card behind.”

“Oh.” Max gazed at the little card discarded onto one of the counters by Ambulon. 

Fort Max stood like an awkward island in the middle of the room, more like a continent actually, he took up so much space it was a squeeze to maneuver round him and his treads almost touched the ceiling. 

“So,” Ambulon sat, “Talk.” He couldn’t stop his gaze roaming and wondering. The little fantasies he’d constructed of trapping Fort Max in his room, alone, were starting to resurface. 

Subconsciously he chewed his lip. He imagined big strong hands on him, grasping him firm, tight enough to leave little marks. The kinds that were easily remedied but left no illusions of how he’d been spending his free time. The thought put a tingling into his plating - it trickled down his legs and eked unnoticeable traces of energy into his placid fields.

Ambulon shifted to keep himself distracted but Fort Max was taking a long time to put together his sentences.

He tried to remember his duties as a medic but it was tricky when the object of desire was standing in front of him, guilty and open and desperate to make up for a transgression he’d been punishing himself for. 

Easy pickings for a Decepticon. But that wasn’t Ambulon’s way anymore. 

Pity. 

Max gulped. His eyes were darting about the room, looking everywhere except at Ambulon. There were a lot of things he wanted to say, feelings he couldn’t vocalise and it was weighing him down. 

Ambulon wasn’t looking at him anymore either. He was just dreaming, optics unfocused and attention receded deep into his imagination. Soundlessly occupying himself.

A low hum, like a growl rumbled snatching Ambulon’s attention back and he gaped at Max like he was something beastly.

“I want you to understand.” Max blurted out, different emotions fighting to escape, “Without thinking I’m some kind of _freak._ Because it hurts when the only person to show you any consideration on this ship aside from your slagging therapist suddenly withdraws because they think they know better: Which you don’t, Ambulon.”

Ambulon sat, perfectly still, reveling in how Fortress Maximus said his name.

“I’m not explaining why I didn’t turn up the other night. That’s none of your business but that doesn’t mean I’m not ashamed about it, or...or that I’m not sorry. I am sorry, by the way, but ... you were the first person on this ship to sit and talk to me since ... and, um, but ... but what I’m trying to say is,” Half exhausted and embarrassed beyond understanding Max funneled the last of his esteem into an effort to meet Ambulon’s gaze with honesty. His insecurity exposed for Ambulon to abuse, “I need you to give me a chance...to fix myself because I ... I wanted to,” He closed his optics, “I wanted to meet up with you the other night, more than I realised. But I couldn’t.”  In the back of his mind he knew he and Ambulon hadn’t established anything that deserved the burden of shouldering this much emotional fallout. He’d said a lot more than he’d intended but in no way did it equal the depth of how he felt. 

Nevertheless, if he’d only succeed in pushing Ambulon further away at least he’d said his piece. To leave their situation in a wordless surrender would have been a defeat he’d be unable to recover from. 

Fortress Maximus braced for Ambulon’s reaction. The suspense made him woozy.

Ambulon had anticipated a confession. He wasn’t prepared to break new ground. He looked over Max’s frame with foresight, seeing challenges and a world of trouble he wasn’t qualified to cope with but that didn’t interfere with his decision to reach out. His fingers stroked Maximus’s knuckles.

The connection stirred Fortress Maximus. Even though his instinct was to pull away he willed his fingers to uncurl.

Gently, Ambulon hooked his hand round Max’s, impressing on it a firm clutch, reassuring and kind. 

The coil of tension wound tightly in Fort Max’s mind unwound, just a little. Enough to relax into the touch. It was an expression of affection he’d forgotten how to respond to. It had been a long time since he’d felt anything beyond negativity and, right now, he just didn’t want to let go. 


	5. Chapter 5

Rung’s office was becoming very beige. Fortress Maximus decided he hated the colour. It was too...it was the colour of psychology and it sucked. Rung on the other hand seemed to horde anything that was beige. At the Lost Light’s latest stop Rung had acquired a beige cushion to sit on. It had tassels and sequins and fancy trimming - all of the beige variety. He’d proudly showed it off to Fort Max as he did with all his purchases. Before, Max would have outwardly voiced his disapproval of junk. Rung was supposed to be a profession, his office didn’t need clutter. Only femmes and addicts approved of collecting junk. The latter because they couldn’t be bothered to clean up. 

Lately, however, Fort Max expressed some tolerance. These past couple of weeks had been easier, less stressful and he was noticing an improvement in his mood - and no Rung, it wasn’t because of the Meds. 

“I think it’s festive!” Rung harped on about the cushion like it was single greatest thing in the universe. Fort Max bared it, just about, drumming his blunt fingers against his knee caps.

Finally, _finally_ , Rung put down the damn cushion and resumed business as usual. 

Fort Max sat readily at the edge of the berth. They had an hour to plough through and the joys were only just beginning. 

“So, Maximus. How have you been?”

“Good.” He said, feeling quite certain. Rung was pleased to hear. Suspicious, but pleased. He pulled his notes of Fortress Maximus in front of him and started jotting away, their usual tango commenced. Back and forth, back and forth until...

“...and how have you been sleeping?” 

The question was met by an awkward pause. The rhythm of the meeting shattered. 

“Still not sleeping?”

Maximus shook his head, slowly and reluctant. 

“And how’s it effecting you.”

“I’m tired.” And obvious answer for a stupid question. 

“Are you able to go about your daily business?”

“What business?! I get off the recharge slab, come here and repeat. Every. Single. Day.”

“That doesn’t sound very fulfilling.” Recently, it wasn’t strictly true either.

“No. No it doesn’t, does it? But it’s all I’ve fragging got.” Max snapped ignoring the sympathy Rung was attempting to express. Primus dammit, these sessions always managed to wind him up. He’d been in a reasonably stable mood before he’d come in and now it was ruined. 

“Okay. Going without a good night’s sleep isn’t good. Let’s try and figure out what’s giving you trouble. Is it dreams, or just a general inability to power down?”

Max looked down and guarded himself. When Rung asked these kinds of questions it was difficult to avoid giving honest answers. Not that he lied to give Rung a headache, it was just easier to leave somethings unsaid. Rung had sworn an oath of confidentiality but Max was dubious of its integrity. Rung was just another bot, not a tight-lipped saint.  

“Does the issue revolve around someone specific. Are you afraid?”

Max twitched and Rung zoned in on that signal like a fly to a sticky toffee. 

“Maximus. I know I can’t absolve you of your memories, but I can reassure you that he, **_Overlord_** ,” He said the name with purpose, like there was no need to avoid it because if he wasn’t afraid of the name then Fortress Maximus shouldn’t be either, “...is gone. He cannot harm you here or any where else ever again. Which is what you need to remember whenever you feel overwhelmed. It can never happen again. He is dead, Maximus.”

Fortress Maximus’s gaze turned dark. Rung had succeed in peeling back a few vital layers of protection and what he unearthed was ugly. 

“And so are Pipes, Rewind and a bunch of people I never had the chance to meet because of that same fragger. You wouldn’t ask people to forget about them.”

“I’m not asking you to forget.” Rung said quietly, but he wasn’t afraid to meet Maximus head on, “I’d never, no one would ever expect you to dismiss what happened to you but you have to acknowledge it and more importantly confront it, here with me, and I will help you move past it. Would you like that, hm? To be able to recharge through the night?”  

   Fortress Maximus sucked in a deep breath. Rung’s hopes for improvement rose and fell in quick succession.

“I can’t sleep because I have too much time on my hands. I don’t know what to do with myself and its made me restless.” No, that was not what Rung wanted to hear. They’d had this conversation before.

“Maximus. I will clear you for active duty the second I feel confident that you’ll be able to cope with the strain. A work environment is very taxing and”-

“Then we’re going to be stuck in this position for a while. I told you the problem, if not work then what’s your solution, Doctor?”

Despite is infinite patience, this session, even Rung was showing signs of fatigue. He slumped in his beige chair and sighed. With all his alternative efforts wasted it was time to pursue the last and loathed resort. The quick fix.

Max did well in disguising the smugness in his expression when Rung’s nimble hands unlocked the desk draw in which he kept a limited supply of drugs he could issue without the fuss of visiting the medical wing. 

It was a one off deal, just so he could go over the purpose and side effects in person with his patients so they had a comprehensive understanding of why he was issuing them that particular drug and also, what he hoped using it would accomplish. It was around that point Fort Max spaced out normally.

“Now Max, a few weeks ago I told you I want to begin taking you off your medication soon but as this issue with recharge is a persistent problem we’ll do a trial run: for a mech your size take four tablets about twenty minutes before you plan on settling down,” Rung dissolved into chatter, mainly reeling off the side-effects Fort Max should be aware of, all the classics, processor aches, fatigue, cramps and other nasty unmentionables that got Max thinking of the troubles he already contended with. 

“What about p-performance issues?” Since certain personable attachments had evolved, his libido was a bigger issue now than it had been three weeks ago. And his experiments, though still strictly private, had become more aggressive and the results had been disturbingly poor.

Rung was giving him a quizzical look. He was trying not to but he was anyway.   

Fort Max wasn’t laughing. 

“Excuse me?”

Ugh, was he really doing this? Did he have to spell it out?! 

“You know. Does the drug effect...” Making hand gestures, he learned, was no less embarrassing then speaking aloud. 

“No, not for this sample...well, it would be very unusual.” Rung wasn’t even looking at him as he replied, he was studying the packaging of the sleeping pills just to be sure he was correct. 

“What about the other stuff, would that possibly effect...”

Rung shook his head. 

Oh no. Max curled his hands against his thighs.

“Max...are you trying to tell me you’re having trouble being intimate?”

Max didn’t answer immediately, the question hung in the air until it soured and became overbearing, then Fort Max had to answer because this wasn’t the kind of issue Rung would let slide. But he wouldn’t push it either. Fort Max respected that, so he nodded.

Rung was sympathetic,

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of Max, especially for someone in your condition,” That word, _condition_ , it made Max squirm, it was a doctor’s word and used tactfully instead of outright calling him damaged goods, “You’re very brave to confide in me, I know saying so must have been difficult.”  Max continued to look down, it didn’t matter how proud Rung was his kindness changed nothing. 

“Well,” Rung cleared his throat, “There have been instances where medicine has been connected to ED but that’s more relative to antihistamines...er that’s allergy medicine, which I’m not treating you for. Hmm.” With ponderous intent Rung curled his small hands round his chin his gaze absently drawn to Max’s groin. 

Feeling very self conscious, Max crossed his legs.

“Well then, more than likely it’s related to your mood. Unreasonable stress could”-

“No.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I am not under ‘unreasonable stress’ I have nothing in my life that would constitute ‘unreasonable stress’.”

But Rung knew how untrue that was. 

“A lack of proper recharge can cause stress. Sometimes all the little things can amass to something unmanageable. But if you are really concerned then I recommend you consult with your doctor. All the medical staff are very friendly, I’m sure they’ll be glad to help.” The gust of air pushed out of Max’s vents was enough to rattle the clipboards stacked on Rung’s desk. He flailed to steady them, “And they’ll be discrete of course!”

The Lost Light was a small ship, secrets were never kept for long, at least not the juicy ones. 

“Okay.” Max breathed, thankful that their hour was nearly up.   

 

 

 

“Rung still won’t clear me for work.” Max moaned and pretended that was all today’s therapy session yielded. Opposite him, Ambulon frowned.

“Did he give you an explanation?”

“Yeah but it was the usual slag. He’s being cautious I know, but...” His shoulders gyrated, a restless sound. 

“How do you feel?”

“Don’t ask that question! You sound just like him.”

“Frag up, I meant what do you think. Do you think you’re ready to work again?”

“Pfft, slag yeah. I mean, it’ll be a bit of learning curve but anything beats moping in the hab suite.” Max sighed. Speaking frankly with Ambulon was so much easier than spilling his guts to Rung. For one thing, Ambulon wasn’t analyzing every syllable spoken in search of underlying issues, “Truth is, I’m really bored of doing nothing.”

Ambulon’s lips twisted.

“You should have my job. You’ll never complain again.”

“Ambulon...”

“I know, I know. It’s not the same.” He looked up at Max and smiled, “Don’t worry, I’ll give you something to keep you busy later.” 

The promise of a rewarding evening took Max’s mind off his listlessness for now. They mulled over all the things they wanted to do to each other in silence, but the way Ambulon’s foot was slowly dragging up Max’s leg was no accident. 

“They’re staring again.”

Max quickly jerked his leg away from the contact. 

“Who?”

“Your friends.” 

Ambulon tilted his head across his shoulder and sure enough Max was right. They had an audience, all looking gormless, jaws slackened. Ambulon smirked, gave them a wink, in response to which they all visibly juddered like he was flicking grit at them.   

This wasn’t the first time Ambulon had favoured Fortress Maximus company over theirs during their evenings at Swerve’s. He thought that, by now, all the hype surround his divided allegiance would have died down but nope, two weeks on and they were still staring. 

However, he had tremendous admiration for First Aid; who was presently concentrating on his drink.

Although the nurse was clearly dying to hear all the details of Ambulon’s liaisons with Fort Max he showed respectable restraint. Even in their hab suite he kept his derma clenched and never pestered Ambulon for gossip, knowing that if he didn’t have the information then he couldn’t be bullied into passing it onto the rest of their rowdy crowd.    

“What’s the matter?” Ambulon asked, Fort Max’s body language soaked up his amusement.

“Nothing!” Max snapped, crouching further over his energon like he was trying to hide under his treads. He didn’t want to spoil everything. Again. 

“Do you want to go back to the Hab Suit?”

“No, it’s just that ... you know I don’t like it when they look at me like that.”

Ambulon sighed, he didn’t want to be awkward but it was rare that they spent any time together out in the open. Fort Max hated parading around, pretending there was nothing going on when it was so obvious there was something between them. 

Everyone was judging him, he just knew it. 

“Come on. I’ve got a better idea. Let’s go”- Ambulon was removing himself from his seat when Max interrupted. 

“No! We don’t have,” He reached for Ambulon and with all the subtleness of an explosion Ambulon snatched his arms beyond Max’s grasp, “...to.” 

Still sitting, Max looked up at Ambulon, saddened. Ambulon was looking else where, checking up on his crowd of friends who’d obviously caught sight of Fort Max’s compulsion to grab Ambulon. They were all suspicious now and Ambulon looked like he was suffering under the heat of it. 

Max heard him groan even if he wasn’t supposed to.

Was he meant to draw the conclusion that anything conducted discretely under the table by Ambulon was acceptable but outright contact was forbidden? Why was Ambulon so intent on hushing everything they did together. 

“Come on.” Ambulon said again, he was standing and visibly impatient.

Max chuffed.

“Right.” Max obliged, expected to follow Ambulon, without objection, out of the bar. He was startled when Ambulon deviated across the bar, converging on his gang on friends packed into a corner booth. Ambulon was speaking with them, Max was too far away to listen - not that he particularly wanted to. He stood like a statue, unsure of how to proceed. Fingers twitching at his side. 

Then Ambulon turned to him and waved him over. 

The gears in Max’s legs jarred. He was taller than ever single person in the bar but he felt so small. 

They were all staring at him, expecting him to join them and all Max could do was shudder. 

Why was Ambulon doing this to him? 

Then he felt something snake round his hand and his spark jumped. He hadn’t even noticed Ambulon move but some how he’d returned to Max’s side and was gently encouraging him to join the discussion at the table. 

Fort Max grimaced but had no choice. He allowed himself to be led, by Ambulon, to table. 

For the sake of being polite he grunted at the few mechs who offered him the same unenthusiastic courtesy. 

There was just one seat available that Ambulon steered Fort Max into before he could protest. Ambulon stood next to him, even sitting down Max was still taller than him. Atomizer pointed that out. 

For the most part Max could just sit and listen, which he was content to continue doing. Ambulon chattered away and the group seemed pleased regain their friend for the evening.     

Thankfully, Whirl was absent. If he wasn’t Ambulon would never have convinced him to do this. 

First Aid politely asked how Max was doing. When he responded Max tried to ignore how quiet the rest of the group got as they all listened in. Ambulon continued speaking, trying to disguise the silence but it was so obvious. Max didn’t want to be rude but he kept his answer short. First Aid knew all the grizzly details anyway, it wasn’t as if Fort Max was obliged to elaborate. 

The attention passed off him and refocused elsewhere. Which was a relief. He couldn’t relax under these conditions even though he understood that Ambulon was trying to help disengage his anxiety of crowds. 

It was a task easier said than done. But thinking like that wouldn’t help him now. He just had to listen and adjust and pretend he hadn’t spotted Chromedome glaring at him from across the table.

Now there was a mech who had a legitimate foundation to hate Max’s guts. Since he’d sat down Chromedome’s visor had grown progressively darker. Max knew that he was the cause of it.

The acid in his tanks started to burn with regret. The thought of the poor mini-bot trapped in the shuttle with - 

Ambulon leaned against Fort Max’s chair with one hand hidden behind the larger mech’s back, softly playing with the seams of his armour. When Max’s thoughts took a dive he felt the armour tense and the circuitry underneath run hot. 

Okay, best not push it.

Ambulon vented a soft yawn. Interrupting First Aid’s chitter.

“Sorry, First Aid. But it’s time I got going.” He tapped Max on the shoulder, delicately, just enough to rouse and not startle, “You coming?”

Max nodded, half numb with relief. 

He lifted himself from the chair. As they walked away from the table together Ambulon reach up, his hand settled near the top of Fort Max’s arm. 

Max glanced down at him, the smallest of smiles pulling up one corner of his mouth.

 

 

 

“Fortress Maximus.” It was Chromedome who called him back. 

Ambulon glance up, watched Max’s optics nearly bulge out of their sockets before turning to address Chromedome.

Max copied, doing so less eagerly than Ambulon and in a jarred rhythm. 

His internals clenched tightly with apprehension. 

The other faces surrounding the table, paled. 

Max saw Trailcutter mutter something harshly into Chromedome’s audio. But Chromedome swatted him away like a pest. 

Max braced himself. Ambulon removed his warm touch from his plating.

Chromedome met his optics with steady, morbid confidence. 

“I just wanted to say thank you.” It wasn’t only Max that seemed surprised (and sincerely relieved) Chromedome sat a bit straighter, “Thank you for retrieving Rewind’s dataslug. It helped me and I’m grateful. I should have said so sooner but I think you can appreciate how daunting the build up to these things can be.” Chromedome broke contact. Trailcutter reached across and pressed a reassuring hand to the mech shoulder.

“That’s okay...it was the least I could do.” Said Max, offering Chromedome a specific nod before he and Ambulon left.      

 

 

 

Hands were touching everything in the darkness of Max’s hab suit. Ambulon had to adjust his optics to recognise vague shapes. The atmosphere of room was made humid by moist, warm air expelled from their cooling systems. The air was clammy and coated their plating in a damp sheen. Ambulon moaned about the heady sensation, Max’s mouth sucked firmly on his neck cables, working slowly up to his jaw. A wet glossa traced a well worked path up to his mouth. Ambulon let him inside, parting his lips wide and breathing in while his hips jerked against Max’s thigh, relishing the friction. 

The berth was hardly big enough for Max, with both of them squeezed onto the small space it was very cramped. But Ambulon liked it that way. He liked having Max loom above him, it fueled his fantasy of powerlessness... it made him hot. 

He lapped at Max’s tongue. It was all he could do, Max was so much bigger he just overwhelmed Ambulon. The medic shivered. 

He brought his hands up to grip the ornamentation branching off Max’s helm, it was useful to have something to brace himself against when weathering the ferocity of Max’s kisses until they slowed. Ambulon dragged his hands down Max’s face, guiding him as their kiss crested, turned slower and got more sensual. 

Max hummed against Ambulon’s mouth. Ambulon was very gentle, he wanted Fort Max to feel in control in the hope it would coax out more wild antics among other important subjects... 

Ambulon’s energy flared when his interface array was cupped in warm hands and pawed at curiously. 

Ambulon needed to breath, arousal was overtaking him and he needed to remember he wasn’t the only person in this berth. 

Static and energy snapped at Maximus’s skillful fingers when he traced the outline on the interface sockets embedded in Ambulon’s thighs. Ambulon squeezed his thighs together, trapping the large hand in place, putting delightful pressure on those budding relays seeking connection.

“Ticklish?” Maximus murmured against his audios, unleashing his glossa soon after. Ambulon hiccuped when he felt the hand between his legs wiggle. He looped both arms round Max’s neck and rolled his interface into Max’s, sandwiching the other mech’s hand against both arrays. 

Ambulon kissed Max in a long, passionate moment, pushing more emotion into his wildly rotating energy field. His hands started exploring, petting the enormous treads and venturing to caress his shoulders, next his arms and then dipping inward, clasping Max’s waist - feeling the little pistons and gears work. 

His hands never got any lower than that. Tonight was no exception. When he tried Max blocked him. Any personal attention to his own interface panel was off limits. Max caught both Ambulon’s hands aggressively, jerking them up and above his head, bracing them against the wall above.

Ambulon’s grimaced, wanting to ask why but Max was still contracting. He surged forward, pinning Ambulon in place half beneath him, the rest of his body supported by the unyielding wall. 

His thighs strained to accommodate the whole of Max’s bluck between them. The socket linking his legs to his body ached but everything Max did felt so _good_ it was worth a  couple of sore joints in the morning. 

Max was shifting again, lower, until his face was directly over the cover of Ambulon’s interface array. 

His hands were still trapped above him, when he looked down at Max’s smirking face he began to pant and his eyes darkened with need. 

“You’re very hot down here, Ambulon.” Maximus observed, dragging his wet glossa across the pronounced outward blemish in the plating. It was the mark where Ambulon’s spike was excitedly pressurising within, straining to make an appearance. 

“M-Max.” There was a trail of shiny saliva spread all over his array. 

Max opened his mouth wide and supped on the whole panel, air expelled by cooling vents caressed the circular nodes in his thighs.    

Ambulon’s vision buzzed. Max persisted with his ministrations, groaning when Ambulon tried to push more into his mouth. The stimulation was great, the sound vibrated _through_ Ambulon’s armour into amped up circuitry 

“Primus, Max!” His self control snapped and his panel opened. Fortunately, Max was prepared and withdrew just enough, to allow Ambulon’s spike room to rise. He poked out his glossa, catching the underside on its ascension. 

Ambulon lurched up, his shoulder pulling back sharply.

“Liked that, did you?” 

Ambulon could only nod, his numb, tingly arms were released and his chin tweaked by the unoccupied hand. 

“What about this?”

Max prodded his valve with one, thick finger. It was just a touch but it evoked the best sounds out of Ambulon. 

He threw himself back, shoulders connecting with the wall, body arching outward and his aft left the berth. 

Quickly, Max slipped both hands underneath, cupping the boxy metal of Ambulon’s behind and squeezing it. 

With some sensual maneuvering Fort Max spread his hands across Ambulon’s aft, his fingers splayed apart and his thumbs were in the perfect position to stretch and knead the lower regions of Ambulon’s valve - soft, supple folds glistening with moisture. 

His spike became the focus of Max’s attention.

It was he one thing he’d preserved from his mandatory repaint. It boasted his original colour scheme...original and best. But it did look fundamentally wrong in contrast to his rust-orange frame.

Whether Max took note of this who knew, he was too busy swallowing the throbbing arousal whole.

Ambulon watched it disappear with fascination. When Max’s nasal ridge poked into his torso Ambulon thrust up. 

The action had been involuntary. Max had no trouble adapting. He flattened his warm glossa against he length, moulding it to the shape of every flange until Ambulon felt a pressure start to build...and a suction.

His body turned molten and weak, Ambulon slipped down the berth, aided by Max who’d started lifted his aft higher. 

Soon Ambulon was out of control: groaning and rocking into the hot wet mouth while devious fingers started pressing against his valve. 

He shook. 

There was less support on his aft and he didn’t have the strength to renew the press of his pelvis into Max’s hungry maw as he was. So Ambulon draped both legs across  Max’s shoulders. It was just enough to maintain some leverage and grind into Max’s mouth. 

It went on. 

Lubricant was spilling over Max’s wrists. His thumbs were pressing inside tight, wet heat, blindly easing the tender space open. Max lifted off his spike and gasped. The tip of Ambulon’s spike was weeping, Max sucked the transfluid off, slowly; enjoying the expressions Ambulon made as he did so. He face knitted together as he towered toward the peak of ecstasy but never quite reached it - he wanted more... 

Wanted Max to bed him over and spread him apart and-

“ _Nnugh_!” 

Now there was a glossa inside him too, wriggling along side the thick fingers. 

Ambulon’s own hands shot down, grasping at his spike.

“That’s good huh?” Max pulled back. While Ambulon was staring at him, he swiped his glossa over his lips, moping up Ambulon’s lubricant spread messily over his mouth. 

Ambulon didn’t know whether he’d done that one purpose but _oh damn._

Large blue hands were still massaging his interface sending shivers of arousal through him, like the electricity charging his energy fields. 

“Max!” He whined, staring down his body at Max, who seemed a long way away, smirking at him past Ambulon’s spike.

Then the world did a barrel roll, before Ambulon could protest or compensate for reality’s dizzying rearrangement he found himself _sitting_ on top of Max’s face. Hands still on his aft, guiding him into the greedy mouth, licking broadly and evenly over his sopping valve. 

Wanton and eager Ambulon ground down on Max’s face. The glossa slipped inside him again, satisfying the needs of internal nodes which came lit up like flames in response to every caress that maddening glossa made. 

Max’s hands travelled up, pressing down on the curve of Ambulon’s back. 

His spike was swinging in front of him, pinging for contact. 

Ambulon stroked himself, matching the moment Max had set. 

“Uhh... _Max!_ I’m so,” Too late. An explosion of transfluid from his spike splattered all over his middle. Ambulon’s desperate keens pitched high then dissolved into static. A groan, that deepened in tenor was what followed as Ambulon floated down from his overload bliss. 

He remained, shuddering and panting, forgetting that he was glued to Maximus’s face by his own sticky fluids. 

Max continued to idly toy with the angles of his back plating, his lips carried on supping the excess excretion from Ambulon’s valve.

Intelligible thought escaped him. Ambulon coiled him on himself and moaned, eventually falling backward, peeling his valve off Max’s mouth. He lay sprawled across Max’s abdomen, still murmuring softly.

Max traced gentle patterns along his thighs, prompting the energy burning in Ambulon’s lonely interface ports to discharge one by one. Gradually, siphoning off the remainder of the charge leaving Ambulon feeling sated. 

Underneath him Max breathed heavily, his entire frame rising and falling in a steady rhythm until he made _that_ sound. 

Half grunt, half gasp.

Ambulon recognised it, it meant it was all over. 

Time to go to bed. 

With practiced skill Maximus slid Ambulon off his body and left him lying on the berth. 

“Lights: On.”

Cold and exposed. Ambulon was never given long to relish the afterglow. Max was cleaning off his face. Washing down the taste of their fragging with some standard energon mix along with a handful of pills he refused to let Ambulon inspect.

By now Ambulon was meant to be doing the same. Because this whole arrangement was based around Max’s terms.   

To begin with Ambulon had convinced himself he wasn’t phased, Max doted on his body and never expected anything in return. But this cycle of finish up and go was become routine. They never shared any connection and after tonight Ambulon was quite certain the connection was what he was missing most. 

Their fragging was one sided when it was supposed to be about sharing something intimate. 

He understood why Fortress Maximus would have his reservations about that, but relationships were about more than just one person. Despite how good Max could make him feel when he revved his engine, Ambulon felt neglected ... maybe a little bit used. 

So tonight he was determined to put his fortitude to the test remain on the berth until Max told him to go. If only to rediscover the boundaries. Ambulon never looked for a fight but he sure as hell liked to know where he stood. Having the rug ripped from under his feet was a pain he was ashamed to say he knew intimately. 

Ambulon shimmied up the berth, tucked away his spike and covered himself. But smears of lubricant had started drying inside his thighs. 

“Aren’t you going to clean that off?” He hadn’t been aware that Max was staring. 

“Oh...do you have a cloth I could use?” 

Gingerly, Max offered him the same chamois he’d used and, still sitting on the berth, Ambulon got to work and Max watched. 

“Your rubbing your paint off.” Max said sharply. Like it was of great concern to him. Ambulon stopped sharply. Removed the cloth and stared at the collection of flakes gathering under his legs. He sighed.

“Yeah, that happens, I’ve been meaning to get it retouched, it’s just finding the time.” 

Ambulon resumed and, again, it wasn’t to Max’s liking.

“Don’t rub it off. You’re being to rough... stop!” Ambulon wasn’t sure if he could move any slower.    

He sat back and stared at Max expectantly. 

The large mech was stiff like a statue until Ambulon offered him the chamois. 

“Do you want to take over?”

Max hesitated. 

“Just be gentler.”

“Okay.” Ambulon tried again.

Still watching with a frown Max came to sit beside him on the berth. Ambulon’s lips twitched. 

Another flake of orange paint, quite a sizable one, peeled off his thigh and crumbled against the chamois. 

Fort Max’s arm launched out, grasped Ambulon’s wrist and guided it away from his spoilt legs.

They paused, Fort Max conceiving a billion consequence to his actions while Ambulon focused on slipping his wrist free. He dragged his hand through Max’s leaving the chamoi behind, in Max’s possession. 

“Go on.” He encouraged, parting his legs enough for Max to maneuver.

Max’s throat tubing worked anxiously, like this would some how defile Ambulon worse than their previous romp. It was a logic Ambulon couldn’t find foundation for.

Considering he was a large mech, built to cause damage, Fort Max was meticulous and relaxingly gentle. 

Although he couldn’t preserve Ambulon’s paint entirely he did an outstandingly better job than Ambulon. 

The transfluid just wiped away. 

Ambulon reclined against the berth. The soft circular action of the cloth making him feel tired. 

“Are you embarrassed of me, Ambulon?”

Fort Max continued working the smears away and Ambulon thought he’d dreamt what he’d heard. 

Lifting his head slightly off the berth, he squinted at Max.

“What? No, why would I be?”

It was out of the blue and sudden it was like they were back to zero. Max cursed himself for bringing it up.

Ambulon pulled his legs out of reach.

“Why would I be, Max?”

It was inescapable. Maximus stumbled over his words.

“I’m no good with your friends...they all think”-

“What?! Max come on, don’t be ridiculous. You’re Chromedome’s hero. If it wasn’t for that dataslug you salvaged he wouldn’t have made it through these past couple of months, he’s said so himself...Max?”

Max still wouldn’t look at him. 

Ambulon lay back down on the berth and sighed. There were still patches of a sticky  residue on his thighs but the chamois didn’t return to tend to them. 

Tilting his head, Ambulon absorbed Max’s miserable expression. He was wringing the chamois in his hands, over and over. 

“So I was thinking,” Ambulon decided they needed to move along briskly and there was one topic he knew of that was certain to brighten Maximus’s spirits. He’d done well to tolerate Ambulon’s rabble today, he deserved some kind of reward - something that suited him better than a sticky frag from which he gained nothing, “About what you were saying...about wanting to work.” That snagged Max’s attention. Ambulon watched the other mech’s optics brighten and glowed with mischievous pride, “Don’t get your hopes up too high, I’m just sayin’, Rung’s not the only one who knows how to right a recommendation, y’know?”

Max was awed beyond words. Ambulon snorted, 

“It might take a while to process as well”-

“But you would do that for me.”

Ambulon nodded,

“If you’re certain you’re ready for it. Yes.”

Max fidgeted on the spot. Ambulon got the impression he wanted to sneak over and have a repeat of what they’d partaken in early. But he settled for a demure, “Thank you.”

instead.  

Ambulon would have preferred the exploration of his first impression but he’d make do with spoken gratitude. 

In the prevailing silence Fort Max’s engine slowed to a tired hum. That was the medication starting to kick in, Ambulon recognised the sound. It was a bonus that Max hadn’t made the motion for him to leave...yet. 

“Are you tired?” He asked in a whisper. Max nodded but he wouldn’t join Ambulon in the space waiting next to the smaller mech. 

Holding on for just a little longer in hope of an invitation to stay, Ambulon watched Fort Max’s optics flicker and droop as he succumbed to the induced recharge. 

Tucking into the side of every berth was a compartment housing the necessary power adaptors for connecting with the power cells buried in the recharge berth. One by one Max attached the adaptors to the appropriate ports: Two in his hip, one on each wrist, one directly over his spark and lastly...

When he felt around he couldn’t find the last cable. But the tender kiss placed over the final connection in the back of his neck solved the mystery of where it had disappeared to. 

Ambulon lingered with his lips pressed to the round connection.

“Good night, Max.” He breathed and snapped the final adaptor into place, completing the circuit, beginning the natural exchange and renewal of energy. 

Max waited for Ambulon’s weight to leave before lying down. 

Giving up, Ambulon’s shoulders sunk and the medic walked the thin line away from the berth swallowing sadness. 


	6. Chapter 6

Leaving Fort Max’s hab suite was just like crossing a busy road: Ambulon needed to be wary of traffic. So he craned out his neck, looked right, looked left and looked right agai- _dammit!_

Brainstorm was waiting. Arms folded, tapping his foot against the floor. 

Ambulon buried a groan inside him. There was no where he could hide. Ambulon would need to be engaging if he wanted to distract Brainstorm from the small smears of transfluid smudged into his legs as well as the recent amendments to his paint job.  

“Hello, having fun in there, are you?” 

How was Ambulon meant to answer? Brainstorm’s chipper exterior was quite obviously a front to conceal his want to embarrass Ambulon because of his evening exercise. 

Ambulon shuffled into the middle of the corridor, gradually sidestepping his way past Brainstorm toward his own hab suite. 

“I am sorry, for the inconvenience.” He muttered. 

“Oh well, you know, noisy neighbours happen!” Said Brainstorm, with much more ease than Ambulon’s painful apology, “I used to have a flat in Kaon before slag hit the fan, at least you guys aren’t cooking engex.” 

Ambulon didn’t know whether he was meant to laugh. He just nodded along, muttering a second apology as he maintained his effort to slip away. Inch by inch he tip toed further. Brainstorm still watched him, Ambulon was receiving pangs of judgment.

Then his expression shifted, like a thought had occurred to him and he wasn’t sure whether it was appropriate but decided to say so anyway.

“You’re biting off more than you can chew with him.”

It was enough to falter Ambulon’s escape. 

“Excuse me?”

Brainstorm cringed and appeared to be rethinking, but he’d started something now and there was no way Ambulon would let him break the conversation on a statement that impugned his ability.

“I just think... y’know, living next door to him I almost experience his moods first hand and I’m just really glad there’s a wall between us you know because ...”

“Because what?” 

Brainstorm threw up his hands. A silent submission.

“Doesn’t matter. Have a good night.” He cowered back into his suite. The door closing tightly and Ambulon returned to his hab suite in a very poor mood.

“Ambulon?” 

To his dismay First Aid was still awake and alert. 

Ambulon had never been particular good at mastering his electro magnet fields in the confines of his own room. It was like an in-build trigger existed in the door that uncaged his turmoil the instant he stepped across the threshold. 

First Aid was tuned to his moods and at once sensed the rapid flux of Ambulon’s energy fields caused undeniably by something related to emotional stress. 

Ambulon didn’t respond. He dragged his feet to his recharge slab and dug the connectors out ready for use.

“What’s the matter?” First Aid set down his work. Ambulon heard the gears in the chair squeak as First Aid swiveled to honor Ambulon with unwanted attention. His energy fields bristled. 

“I don’t know.” He muttered turning the finally adaptor he needed to instal in the back of his neck over in his hands. 

First Aid was very quiet. Awkwardly so. Desperate to ask about what was happening between him and Max. He held back out of respect and confidence in Ambulon’s ability to make his own decisions but...

...but they both knew sometimes he had a tendency to make mistakes. Nothing relating to his medical prowess. Ambulon could perform like an expert - it was other matters. 

Romance. 

It could be cruel and Ambulon had been unlucky too often for First Aid not to feel wary about his choice of partners. 

First Aid had seen Ambulon pick himself apart over people who only ever had one thing on their mind. Only wanted him for one thing. Ambulon fooled himself and everyone else into thinking he was fine with that. First Aid knew he wasn’t.   

“Ambulon?” He whispered again, leaning out of the seat. Ambulon’s hand tightened round the recharge adapter. 

“What is it, First Aid?” With tremendous effort because of a lack of self-mastery, Ambulon wrestled his energy fields into his control. Reducing their worried flaring into a more acceptable, passive buzz. He knew what First Aid was trying to coax out of him, what he was undoubtably remembering. Ambulon didn’t want to start remembering. The memories were already niggling the back of his processor, revived on the walk home from Max’s but he couldn’t give them ground to take root. Even if he was fighting a losing battle between them and First Aid’s sad, inquisitive stare he could not afford to start comparing this - being shut out - to before. 

But the memory was like a weed and 

“I just want to make sure you’re okay. I don’t want this to be another...another Pharma.”

...First Aid had just thrown it a handful of fertiliser. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ambulon said with flat assurance. The last connector snapped into place and Ambulon curled on his recharge slab.          

 

 

 

 

 

“Hold his head up! Come on.” 

Maximus didn’t want to. He’d tried everything to get away but he couldn’t. Sometimes Overlord like to leave him under the watch of other Decepticon cronies while he disappeared to wreak havoc on some other poor soul. In their care Maximus was the subject of their fun. 

In blind panic, quite literally blind because he optics had been carved out - savagely,  Fortress Maximus had rolled himself off the berth. He’d landed heavily. All the wounds recently clotted by self repair burst open again. 

He’d crawled. Directionless, just panicking, he had to escape. A slug trail of pink energon oozed behind him. 

The Decepticons laughed, hard, making no effort to stop him because, as they gleefully informed him when his journey was impeded by a wall, the door was in the opposite direction. 

A disgusting taste rose from his gut and burned in his throat tubing. 

Grimly, he turned and tried again. 

His second attempt was met by a different kind of obstruction. He held his breath as he felt around the long rectangular eddy. The pace of fuel pump quickened. Distinct marks he recognised... gun nozzles, the shape of a familar ped. 

“Do you know what that is, you scum? That’s your leg!” One of the Decepticons cawed. The other was laughing so hard he started to gasp.

Maximus hands curled round the leg. He rested his helm against part of it, small, whimpering sounds made his lips quiver. 

“Aww. Are you crying?” The Decepticon cooed, like it was all one big joke. 

Then the two of them (Max could only assume there were two - there might have been more) crowded round him. One grasped his hips and tugged them upward while the other toyed with the head, pulling on his helm until his neck joints started to burn. 

“What are you doing?”

Maximus hadn’t heard Overlord enter, but he recognised his voice. For once, it didn’t sound like he was enjoying the defiling of his favourite Autobot. 

“Just keeping him warm for you bo” - Overlord made the Decepticon shut up. Maximus didn’t know how. He just stopped him talking. Vocal gears stalled, there was a _crunch_ and then nothing. 

No laughter.

The silence of suspense.

Fortress Maximus was trembling, but he didn’t realise it was his own plating making the odd rattling noise that disturbed the room’s hush.

“What are you looking at?”

Then there was a crash. Like something heavy had been dropped gracelessly to the floor. 

Fortress Maximus’s facial plating was splattered by something warm. 

The remaining Decepticon, stuttered.

“N-nothing, Sir...should I send for someone to c - clean him up?”

...

“Later. Not now. I want to be alone.”

Max heard running. He’d been left in room, alone with Overlord, _again_. 

Max couldn’t show how much that terrified him. But he couldn’t stop himself from shaking. 

“Oh, Maximus. What am I to do? Megatron’s still not shown. Do you realise how much of a coward that makes him, hmm? I’m starting to see that now. He doesn’t want to face me because he wouldn’t be able to stand the humiliation of losing. Oh well, at least I have you to keep me occupied.”

Fort Max had been left, precariously balanced on his remaining knee and the words had the effect of tipping him over. 

He collapsed and made a racket and was no longer able to tell if the shudders running through his frame were self inflicted or caused by Overlord stepping toward him.

“Dear Maxy, did you fall down? Let me help you.”

Overlord was too big to deny and stronger than anyone Max had ever encountered. When he reached down Max cringed as large servos traced delicately between his frayed treads. 

“There, there.” He was stroking Max’s helm, “Did they hurt you Max?”

Max tried to retreat to some place deep inside himself. But Overlord’s voice kept teasing him back to the surface of the tension. 

“Don’t worry Maximus. I’ll make you feel all better.”

Next he was grasped in firm, gentle hands and lifted. His front was cradled against Overlord’s warm chest. Beneath the armour he could hear that powerful, terrible spark hum. 

Overlord had lifted him too high for Max to be able to touch the floor comfortably, his remaining ped dangled with just the tip grazing the ground. The red paint was scuffed  as Overlord dragged him back to the berth. 

But Overlord didn’t put him to rest just yet. He took Max’s place on the berth and balanced Fortress Maximus between his thighs. One hand supported him at the waist. He was utterly reliant on Overlord to remain standing and it made his EM fields rage with self-loathing. 

“Now, Maximus, don’t be ashamed. I sympathise with you, I know how it feels to be let down by those you’ve give your respect to. By those you devoted yourself to. And then they abuse their power over you and it’s not very nice, is it Maximus? I know how it is to feel  abandoned. The Autobots must think you’re worthless, I know they’ve just under estimated your value. If they saw how sweetly you perform I’m sure they’d change their minds...” Overlord stroked Max’s face. The Autobot was so tired ... so conflicted and desperate and full to the brim with hate for everyone he found the touch very difficult to resist. It was a very different sensation to the regular experience of rough brutality. Maximus was frozen. His mind glitched. To pull away would spoil this rare display of calmness. Maximus put no stock in Overlord’s poisonous words but this was favourable to punishment. 

Rebellion had punished his body enough. 

This was a side to Overlord he hadn’t experienced before. It was unpredictable and even more frightening. 

Without realising Maximus was gripping Overlord’s strong arms, it was an extra precaution to steady himself but in his clutch Overlord sensed desperation eking out. 

“Shh, shh.” He continued softly petting Maximus’s cheek, dragging his knuckles across the worried metal. The hand caught Maximus round his chin, lifting his head so he would have been staring directly at Overlord if he’d had optics. 

The hand supporting his waist drooped a fraction lower. Maximus twitched. 

“Shh.” There was something so benign in his tone that it was a struggle to identify it in relation to who was hold him. So softly, large fingers smoothly massaging circles against his waist, “Calm down, Maxy.” He murmured when a hot gasp of air brushed against his plating. Overlord moved closer, in the process guiding Maximus toward him, the action pushing Maximus’s arms upward. If he wanted to stay standing he needed to readjust himself. 

As Overlord draped both arms round his waist Maximus’s arms limply reached across the larger mech’s shoulders. It was mockery of an embrace. 

Maximus’s electro-magnetic fields were hot and prickly, working angrily against him because he knew he should be fighting this. But his body was worn beyond protesting. Ruptured energon lines and shallow cuts dribbled energon down his frame. He heard it pattering like rain on the floor. Possibly on Overlord. 

“I’m going to make you feel good.” It was said in a hot breath that coated Maximus’s audio. The Autobot shuddered in Overlord’s arms and the irrepressible whimper his vocaliser bit out was swallowed directly by Overlord’s large mouth pushing against his. 

The kiss lasted a while. Max made no effort to participate but he readily parted his lips and allowed Overlord to do as he wished. There was no resisting - he’d learnt that early on. It just meant more pain. But it was a lose, lose situation. Neither reaction came without a cost. One was less painful but both were equally humiliating.

Fort Max moaned into Overlord’s mouth, scared lip components split and the taste of energon was spread as far back at his intake by Overlord’s glossa. 

The combination electrified Overlord’s arousal. Lust rained down on Maximus and fear exploded in his gut. 

Overlord continued to lazily kiss him, drawing out keens and whimpers Max couldn’t avoid. All the while his hands were sinking lower, toying with transformation seams on the way down. The attention fooling his body into thinking Max was enjoying the caress. A charge was starting to build. 

When he drew back, oral lubricant and pink energon leaked from Max’s mouth, dribbled down his chin and dropped away in gooey translucent threads. His jaw hung, slack, offering his mouth to more perversion and unable to find a reason to pride his decision. 

A hand sneaked under his pelvis, taking advantage of the space created by severing Max’s leg. It wasn’t the only missing defense...

The housing protecting his interface equipment was the first thing he was robbed of.  

Overlord chuckled when he felt the heat exciting Maximus’s equipment. He rubbed at it in patterns, digging the heel of his hand against the fluttering calipers of his valve, then dragging his palm back and introducing fingers to provoke the secretion of lubricant. 

The attention weakened Max’s knee. Oh, please he didn’t want this. He couldn’t see Overlord’s face but in his mind he conjured a seductive smile baring serrated denta.

Soon he felt those denta against his neck, being dragged across his fuel tubing and imprinting dents over his gullet in a slow, planned motion. 

“Shh shhh.” Overlord breathed when he felt Max gulping back a sob under his glossa. He licked up to Max’s mouth, lapping away the drool and relished the despair in the next kiss he stole. 

“You’ll make it good for me, won’t you Maxy?” The suggestion was emphasied by two digits primed in Max’s own excretion inserting into his valve. 

Max flinched. 

His knee numbed and his balance diminished and fell onto Overlord hand. Breathing turning to rasps and a miserable attempt to deny how sickening _nice_ it felt. The charge in his circuits grew. He didn’t understand why. 

Overlord removed his other hand from Maximus waist. Now, the blind Autobot was sitting in his hand, unable to ignore the sensations of the fingers at work in his valve. When they split apart the calipers strained, making an embarrassing, wet, squelch. A little lubricant seeped out that Overlord worked onto his second hand. He wiped it down Max’s trembling thigh and circled it around the circular connection nodes. The action conducted jolts of electricity into his finger tips. 

Maximus wrestled his expression into something completely placate even though the charge was shaping groans and pleas on his glossa. 

“Let’s make you more comfortable.” Overlord maneuvered Max’s leg, arranging it so it straddled across his thighs and Maximus teetered in his lap - completely dependent on him, “Perfect.” 

He leaned Maximus against his shoulder, stoking a hand between those impressive tank treads.     

Overlord’s interface panel, which was pressing against Fortress Maximus, slid open. He felt the covering retract and Overlord’s heavy, thick spike harden against his abdomen as it extended. 

Maximus jaw clenched so stiff that he made his denta ache. Overlord started moving Max against his spike, another finger poked into his sloppy valve and the moan he’d been working hard to smother rolled off his glossa. 

The deep sound washed through Overlord, whisking up his energy fields into a lecherous frenzy. 

His abdominal plating was dampened by Overlord’s arousal oozing out of him and the fingers in his valve splayed one last time, testing the flexibility of the calipers and then withdrew and Max huffed a needy gust out of his vents. His internal components shivered and his valve pressed down on emptiness. Hunting for something to clench between hot, slick internal flanges. His body wanted the fingers back inside him. That disgusted him. But what turned him ill with revulsion was his inability to deny that he yearned for something more. He needed to be satisfied, the charge was burning in his circuits and his spark tumbled riotously in his chest. 

It was at that moment he realised with a sudden horror that Overlord had stopped moving under him and Max had been gyrating his exposed interface against Overlord spike by his own free will.

Overlord sensed the twist of hate sweetening Fortress Maximus’s energy fields. It had a very particular frequency. Fortress Maximus hated him, but right now all that mattered was an overload and he’d drive Max mad with pleasure to get it. 

He leaned Max’s body back. His helm lolled weakly to the side. Three sticky fingers, scented with Max’s own lubricant poked at his lips.

Protesting wasn’t allowed. Max opened his mouth and took them in with obedience that had been ground into him by repetition. His latest transgression had taken his optics. He didn’t want to think what another mistake would afford him. 

Something stronger than just satisfaction was imparted from Overlord when Max reflexively began sucking on the digits invading his tender mouth. They pushed to the back of his glossa and stilled, pressing down on the squashy pallet until enough of his own lubrication had slid off the fingers for Max to taste himself. An acerbic tang. 

Bile rose up his gullet but managed to swallow it around the fingers. Overlord flexed his fingers. Parting Maximus’ jaw wide. His knuckles bumped against denta and more oral lubricant welled at the corners of his mouth. 

“Hmmm.” Overlord purred and started shifting under Maximus again, languidly rocking their bodies together. One hand under Max’s aft, pushing him up and closer. The big spike sliding beneath him, the tip catching on the outside lip of his valve and Max stopped shuddering, stopped breathing. A crack appeared in his expressionless front, it was enough for Overlord to take advantage of. 

“Any objections?” 

Fortress Maximus’s resolve was breaking. His valve callipers were cycling downward hunting for the spike held just out of reach. But this was _wrong._ And even though he couldn’t protest he fastened to the fact that this was all done unwillingly. Or was it?

When he muttered a disjointed ‘None’ round Overlord’s fist Max started doubting himself. He was given no time to reconsider. 

Overlord thrust up and made Max take him. All of him. Max threw his head back, off the hand and gurgled. Panting, gulping down desperate mouthfuls of air as his charge skyrocketed. The friction in his valve a delicious burn of enflames nodes. Overlord broad spike seated within, pulsating, dragging up and down. Catching on internal ridges. 

Fort Max inhibitions abandoned him. The vast open wound that hadn’t been cauterize where his leg was hacked off rubbed against Overlord, spilling energon. He bucked against Overlord. Moaning. Blurring the lines of right and wrong. 

Overlord caught his helm, pulling his mouth back to devour the delicious lack of control.     

“Who do you want Maxy?” Overlord whispered against his lips. He stilled again. Maximus squirmed in his lap, bushing the fat spike inside his valve against the sensors beading his valve’s mesh. 

“I...please.”

Overlord grabbed his hips. It was sudden and violent. The shock provoked a squeak from Maximus. 

“Who do you want Maximus?”

His chest was heaving, self-awareness consumed him. He was needy. He wanted...he just wanted...

“You.”  

[Recharge cycle incomplete.] 

Fortress Maximus flung himself upward, the adaptor plugged into his neck forcibly jerked out of place.

“LIGHTS, Lights: On!” He bellowed. 

The room brightened. His hab suite aboard the Lost Light was clean and uncluttered. Unthreatening. He ground his palms into his optics to be sure they were intact. 

His denta felt sore, his jaw he struggled to unlock. 

Blasts of air were expelled sporadically and hot and cold shivers rushed to every corner of his frame. 

“uhg,” He crouched over himself. He was carrying a charge: an angry, violent one. 

When his hands started rubbing over his body in an effort to sooth himself they discovered a souvenir he’d brought back from that agonising memory file: his spike. 

It was prominently exposed and begging for attention. The moment he noticed it boldly raised between his thighs it gave an excited pulse. 

And Max’s spark sank.   


	7. Chapter 7

Their buzzer was being rung incessantly and urgently. Who ever kept spamming it was going to get a slap from one of the two grumbling medics.   
First Aid and Ambulon rolled off their recharge slabs. As medics they were part of Lost Lights first response team and needed to be ready and alert at a moment’s notice.   
Ambulon didn’t feel very alert when he trudged over to the door and answered. An interrupted recharge always left him feeling heavy and half conscious but when he unveiled Brainstorm standing on the outside of the door his groggy senses immediately rekindled.   
First Aid stumbled into view behind him, Brainstorm saw him and his vocal components stuttered. He hadn’t factored in the appearance of the other medic. It had been his intention to be discrete. Discrete meant the fewer people involved the better.   
“I...um,” He started speaking directly to Ambulon, doing his best to blank First Aid but his optics kept flickering nervously over to the other closing in on them, “I didn’t want to involve Ultra Magnus, I thought it would be better if you went instead...”  
“What?” Ambulon snapped, wondering where he missed the meaning, if there was one.  
“Fortress Maximus,” Brainstorm blurted out, “He’s having some kind of ... tantrum in his room.”  
Ambulon couldn’t tell whether Brainstorm had come to seek his help out of genuine concern for his neighbour or annoyance because his rest cycle had been disturbed, again.   
But Ambulon reacted regardless of the reasoning behind the visit and bounded past Brainstorm.  
First Aid shouted something after him, something he didn’t want to hear so Ambulon continued dashing down corridors. Overtaken by his instinctive need to help. There was nothing else in his processor, only concern for someone who’d shunned him on every level deeper than the physical component founding their relationship.   
He badly wanted to help. The idea of anyone other than himself taking care of Maximus struck him as terribly wrong - especially someone like Magnus, who’s instinct would be to shut Maximus away again.   
“Max?!” Ambulon yelped, stopping himself against the door of Maximus’s hab suite. He pressed his audios to it listening for signs of life. There was nothing and concern gnawed at Ambulon’s processor.  
“Max?” He called again, forcing himself not to sound so afraid. But he was afraid. Inexplicable panic plagued him. When his calls went unanswered for a second time Ambulon considered using his medical access codes to override the door locks, “Are you in there? Max, answer me!”   
There was still nothing. Ambulon was crushing his helm against the door. His hands hovered over the control, finger tips dancing readily in the rhythm he needed to input.  
Then Brainstorm arrived to add to his pressing need to gain control over the situation and also inflamed the embarrassment of being shunned.   
“Max,” Ambulon whispered against the door, trying to pretend Brainstorm wasn’t fluttering over his shoulders, “Please let me in, Max...”  
It hadn’t occurred to Ambulon that Fort Max might not be home. Or that shortly after Brainstorm had gone in search of damage control Fortress Maximus might have slipped out of the hab suite he’d brutally rearranged.   
Maximus didn’t want to go back.   
It was like returning to the scene of a crime and he was victim.   
He felt dirty all over, like the seams of his body were caked with filth.  
Not even a relentless scrub under cold water made him feel well.   
The wash racks were blessedly vacant. Maximus had homed in on a stall at the furthest end of the room and drenched himself. He turned his face into the downward stream and shut his mouth, switched off his optics and ventilation systems and absorbed the feeling of substance splashing against his tired frame.   
It wasn’t enough to dissolve the memory. His expression twitched. Suddenly it wasn’t solvent splattering him, it was someone else’s energon, the sound reminded him of his own wounds leaking and pattering against cool metal like rain.  
He started to feel light headed and needed to brace his arms against the cubicle wall, eventually he brought his helm to rest on the tiles. The cool, solid surface affectively penetrating his EM fields and he exhaled.   
His mouth tasted bitter, like he’d regurgitated his last meal and used it to gargle. His tanks spasmed at the thought.   
“Please...please make it stop.” He whispered into the tiles. Trapped in a moment of weakness he prayed to a god he’d always denied. The hurt was seeping out of his processor, gradually being diluted by the shower until he was aware of more than just the pain and fear, slowly his anger was starting to rise to the surface and he realised he was directing his mutterings at a roomful of griming wall tiles that couldn’t help him or anyone else.   
An overriding surge drove his fist into the wall. At close range he left a dent behind. Tiles cracked and shattered, little slivers of porcelain bouncing off his peds.   
The outburst did more damage to himself.   
Agony flooded his hand, starting at his knuckles and rushing like a torrent down his forearm.  
“Frag!”   
He sank to his knees, clutching the mangled appendage round the wrist to stem the flow of energon oozing to the splits in his knuckles that dribbled and stung. The action didn’t work. He watched the fuel drain out of him and disappear down the plug hole with the rest of the solvent and, in an oddly surreal moment, he began to question why he’d struck out. It hadn’t made him feel any better. All his size and strength and it didn’t help, not here ... not on Garrus - 9.   
Everything had been taken from him and he’d never get it back. Never. Nobody trusted him, nobody needed him. He had no purpose, no pride and he’d never be able to satisfy anyone because...  
He flexed his damaged hand. Relished the sting and the sight of more energon blooming between self-repair clots.   
Dammit, his head was a mess and it was unlikely to get any better.  
The cold solvent trickled between his gears, reaching deep inside the cervices of his body.   
A shaky sigh left him. By now his core temperature had dropped below what was appropriate, or so his internal thermometer informed him.   
He reached up and twisted off the tap. The solvent reduced in pressure.   
Drip, drip, drip. The last droplets hit his helm.   
The sensible thing to do would be to return to his hab suite. But, as he recalled the state he’d left in it he did not look forward to rectifying the mess.   
Why had he done that? He could compare the feeling to the day he captured Rung; he’d acted out blindly then kept going and going, not knowing when to stop. It was an uncontrollable anger that burned through his circuits, it dampened rationality and blindfolded his optics in red. Then, after he’d committed terrible, unforgivable acts, the veil over his eyes would lift and his conscience would endure the aftermath of his rampages.   
Acting out was the only thing that released the pressure pinching his nerves. Caught up in the moment, repercussions didn’t matter to him - all he wanted to do was wrap his large hands round a neck, he didn’t care whose, and squeeze and squeeze and snap!   
On the battle field, as a warrior he’d been praised for his aggression.   
As a prison warden there was an endless supply on convicts to sate his frustration upon. It was all in the name of good.   
Aboard the Lost Light, as an inadequate waste of metal Fortress Maximus had just two options and neither of them belong to any just cause: he could invert his rage and hurt himself, or give the crew yet another reason to despise him. Which, he was certain they did. He knew they slandered him behind his back.  
Although, it was due to that knowledge that added to the feeling of surprise he experienced every time the medic cozied up to him instead of his more stable friends.  
It was that familiar, befuddling surprise that stunned his spark again when he turned into the corridor leading to his habitation suite and found Ambulon sat in front of his door.   
Optics shut, recharging lightly to preserve energy.   
Fort Max could hear the thrum of Ambulon’s air vents.  
The closer he got the more Max tried to disburse his weight. He didn’t want to disturb Ambulon, the smaller mech looked peaceful even if he couldn’t have been comfortable hunched on the floor.   
Unfortunately, Max wasn’t built to be light-footed and Ambulon woke with a start.   
“Wha - wh - What?!” Between his dazed blathering Ambulon scrambled to his feet. He needed the wall to remain steady, the sudden start had his balance reeling.   
“What are you doing?” Maximus saw Ambulon’s eyes trawling over his body, homing in on every discrepancy but there was one overall matter that forced its way out of his mouth ahead of at least a dozen other concerns.   
“Where the hell have you been?!” He shouted, his vocal cords making a hysterical shrieking sound.   
A dower expression blackened Max’s face and he was silent. Ambulon looked like he was about to glitch.   
“Why are you outside my room?”  
“Because I was worried, Brainstorm said you were having some kind of”-  
“Brainstorm sent for you?”  
“He woke me up! Max, what, what’s going on? Why are you soaking wet?” Just then Ambulon’s optics bulged out of their sockets as his sights picked up on Max’s still leaking fist, “What have you done to your hand?!”   
Max couldn’t hear words, just noise, the red wall was coming down over his optics and before he or Ambulon could put a stop to his need to act, Fortress Maximus was beating his fist against Brainstorm’s door, leaving a smear of energon behind.   
“Brainstorm! Open up!”   
“Max, what’re you doing?” Ambulon was chittering at his side, transfixed on the torment warping Maximus’s face. He felt panic rise inside him again.   
Ambulon wasn’t an overly twitchy bot. There was something rattling in Max’s EM fields that unsettled him. It was best described as danger, and Ambulon felt it. It grew in Max’s fields uncontrollably but it was too late for Brainstorm because the sucker was already opening the door.   
“What do you fragg- oof!” He was shoved back inside his hab suite without warning by two enormous hands with the strength to put dents in his shoulder plating, “Primus!”  
“Max!”  
“The frag do you think you’re doin’, calling him over here?!”  
“I...I just,” Brainstorm’s eyes were bright and fully dilated, “I heard you and thought you needed some help.”  
“That’s slag! You’re just looking for an excuse to stir trouble!”  
“No, no Max I’m not.”  
He tried to hold Max’s gaze while reaching for the controls to shut out the threat.   
As the door started to close Max’s hands shot out. Finally he had use for his strength. He pushed the door back, the mechanisms squealed as they were put into reverse suddenly.   
“What’s your problem, huh?”  
“I, I - I don’t have a problem.” Max snarled and took step forward, crossing into the darkness of Brainstorm’s room. Brainstorm skipped back, “But you might if you breach my privacy!”   
Maximus glanced down at his feet in relation to the boarders of Brainstorm’s room.   
It was an easy fix.   
“Max stop it!” Ambulon shouted.   
With one arm Maximus seized Brainstorm, dragged him out of his habitation suite - yelling all the way - and slammed him against the wall. With the other arm he pushed Ambulon out of his way.   
Ambulon staggered. At a distance he watched the ex-warden give Brainstorm a shake like he was a delinquent in custody. He needed to do something but what were his options?! He couldn’t call Ultra Magnus; it would lead to charges of assault being waved around. He couldn’t call First Aid (Not that the nurse would be much help) he would start spouting concerns for Ambulon’s safety.   
Ambulon needed to act alone.   
When Max got this upset he was terrifying.   
“Max!” Against the commotion, Ambulon’s voice was weak and strained.   
“You think you’re so smart,” Max sneered.  
“Well...they don’t call me ship’s genius for n”-  
“Shut up you intrusive cunt!” Brainstorm did as he was told. Max thrust a finger into at his face, “ I mean it, if you’ve got something to say, you say it to me. Do not go behind my back. I know that’s a difficult favour to ask of an aft licking coward like you. The next time you’ve got a problem you say it to my face!” By now Brainstorm was squirming, his shoulder plating stressed under Max’s monstrous strength.   
“Max he’s had enough! Stop it!” Ambulon pulled on the arm crushing Brainstorm’s armour. For an instant Fort Max’s gaze flickered to him and Ambulon saw remorse break through the hardened exterior, “He’s got the message. You’ve made your point, please.”  
Ambulon searched his expression with pleading optics, trying to revive Max’s sense of mercy. It was buried deep but he knew it was there.   
“Please Max, do it for me...”   
When Max’s hands slackened Brainstorm nearly tumbled to the floor with relief.   
“Thank you!” He breathed, it wasn’t clear to whom.  
“Come on.” Ambulon began steering Fort Max toward his own hab suite before he could contemplate kicking Brainstorm while he was down. It was a struggle made in a hurry. Max was still glaring at Brainstorm and Ambulon wasn’t strong enough to make the process go any faster.  
They left Brainstorm gasping for breath. Before disappearing, Ambulon offered him a sincere look of apology. Brainstorm glowered like a storm cloud.   
Inside Max’s suite was a mess. It was no wonder Brainstorm called for help, he was probably too scared to confront the maniac living next door alone.   
Max had ripped furnishings off the wall. The recharge connectors were a tangled on the berth. Draws had been thrown and their contents smatter the ground, nothing on any surface was left standing upright except his neatly arranged pill bottles. Those miraculously missed the carnage.   
Max caught sight of Ambulon’s shock as he visually absorbed the disarray.  
“Shouldn’t you be going back to recharge?” He demanded gruffly as he wandered about the room attempting to reestablish order, putting one of the units upright.   
Ambulon flinched, naturally afraid of incurring the brunt of Max’s frustration. Alone in the hab suite, he wasn’t sure if anyone would come to rescue him if Max snapped.   
But then he found his footing.  
“What the hell was that about?” He barked.   
Fortress Maximus stopped what he was doing, straightened his back and stared. Ambulon was too riled up to give a damn.   
“Do you realise what you’ve just done?! If he files a complaint or, or goes to Ultra Magnus you’re finished! They’ll throw you back in the brig and you’ll rust! Is that what you want...is it?”   
Max wallowed in the haunting silent. Ambulon filled it with unabashed scolding.   
“Primus you can’t just go around handling ‘bots like that. This isn’t a fragging prison and you need realise that what you just did was completely unacceptable!” Ambulon didn’t even notice he was shouting. Max was starting to feel very small. The blind anger was evaporating, now he felt vulnerable and overly aware of how right Ambulon was.   
“I mean, how could you be so stupid and what...what is all this?!” Ambulon waved his hands at the mess he was surrounded by. Fortress Maximus followed the direction of his gestures.   
It would take hours to put everything back the way it was: an exhausting thought and he was already so tired.   
Once again the memory of his nightmares crept into his processor.   
Maximus’s ventilation hiccuped.   
“I... I - I can’t...I’m sorry,” Hiding his face in his hands didn’t make him invisible. Max sunk onto the edge of the recharge slab, “Please, just go. I’ll fix all this, please I just - I” -   
Ambulon heard Max gasp and vented harshly,   
“Alright, look, don’t get upset. This is fixable. You want to tell me why this happened?”   
Ambulon waited, watching Maximus’s jaw work against his hands like he was preparing for a big revelation...  
“No.”  
“Fine! I’ll see myself out.” Ambulon angrily stomped toward the door. When it swooshed open he loitered in the archway, expecting a call back but obviously receiving none.   
He glared at Max, hunched on the edge of the berth trying his best to disguise the fact that he was snivelling into his hands. One of which was bleeding quite badly and making tiny pink rivulets down his arm.   
“Frag sake Max!” Ambulon trudged back into the room. On the floor he spotted the chamois Fortress used to clean himself with earlier. Ambulon snatched it up and proceeded to kneel between Max’s legs.   
Things got quiet. Max refused to acknowledge Ambulon, who was waiting on his reaction and exercising the last reserves of his patience.   
His foul temperament was earning him no rewards. Ambulon closed his optics. When he onlined them he would be calm.   
Fort Max listened to the air being sucked into Ambulon’s systems in forced rhythm.   
“Let me see your hand Max.” Ambulon murmured sedately. Yellow optics dimly lit.  
Reluctantly, Max surrendered the appendage. The weight of it relaxed into Ambulon’s steady hands.  
“Good.”  
The wounds were almost healed, energon dried over his knuckles in thick, messy scabs.   
Ambulon searched the floor around him and came across a tub of watery grease. He dipped the chamois in the solution and started to rub away the flakey dried energon.  
Max’s paint was protected by a glossy venire. Unlike Ambulon’s slap-dash re-coat Fortress Maximus’s paint didn’t crumble or dry out, it was protected and not even Ambulon’s rough handling could tarnish it.  
Even though Ambulon was trying to be gentle Maximus still winced when the cloth grazed across the sore wounds.   
With gloomy interest he watched Ambulon work. Ambulon balanced the large servo in one hand while the other cleaned with precision. At first he didn’t react when Max’s fingers twitched and clutched his hand, but after a time Ambulon impressed his hold on Max and their optics met.   
Before Ambulon could react Maximus was lifting him up, onto his feet and crushing their mouths together.  
Arms looped round Ambulon’s waist and he was dragged closer into this impromptu meeting. Hands gripped his aft, kneading and pulling him up until Ambulon was forced onto the tips of his peds.   
He moaned into Max’s mouth. But it wasn’t satisfaction. Not yet.  
“Max!” He gasped, turning his head to the side when Max tried to recapture his lips, “We can’t just ... we need to talk.” He pressed his hands against Maximus’s shoulders in a weak attempt to break free.   
Signals of desire overpowered rationality. Keeping on topic was impossible but he tried away, “Max?”  
“Then talk, Ambulon.” Max growled against his throat. It was disastrous for Ambulon’s fortitude. He acted against his own logic and began rocking his aft into Maximus’s invasive hands.   
“I...I just think that,” He gulped. Maximus sucked on his neck hard enough to leave a mark. First Aid wouldn’t be pleased. Now his collar was under attack. Max was licking and nibbling, starting the long journey down Ambulon’s body while his hands played with Ambulon’s crotch.   
His spike peeped out of its sleeve.   
Ambulon groaned, suggestions provoked his processor - urging him to retract his interface panel but he willed it to stay shut, even when his spike started squashing itself into the confined space beyond its sleeve.   
He started panting. Max’s fingers made contact with all six of the interface ports sunken into his thighs and simultaneously pressed them.   
“Uhg, oh Primus.”   
Against his chest he felt Max’s lips twist into a smirk.   
“ I just think that we should ap - apologise to - to B-B-B,”  
Maximus removed his helm from Ambulon’s quaking body. He looked him dead in the optics and said firmly.   
“I’m not apologising to anyone.” And he pinched a cable in Ambulon’s groin.  
“Ma-AAH-xs!” His interface housing retracted without command. Ambulon made a strangled sound and Maximus wasted no time in wrapping one hand round the hard, throbbing length greased in pre-fluid. He started brushing his hand up and down roughly. Then, just as Ambulon seemed to acclimatize to the rhythm Maximus squeezed. It was too tight to be comfortable but Maximus was beginning to discover comfort wasn’t Ambulon’s chief preference...   
“You will not bring that up again. The next time Brainstorm runs to you like a little bitch you will tell him to mind his own business or get slagged,” Ambulon jaw was slack, a reservoir of oral fluid was escaping over the boundaries of his lips. Two thick fingers had started to probe the outer limits of his valve.   
Maximus dragged his glossa over the dribbled oral fluid and whispered next to Ambulon’s audio,  
“Are we clear?”   
Ambulon was dazzled by the myriad of sensation. Oh Primus, he didn’t want Max to stop! His systems were running so hot he was in danger of frying some relays if he didn’t get an overload. His ventilations shuttered. But despite how he was feeling there was something worrying his mind - maybe it was circumstances, the lack of communication, the fact that Brainstorm would hear them, maybe it was all those things. Maybe it was nothing. But Ambulon was losing himself to this battle against pleasure and his prolonged silence roused the next stage in Maximus’s demonstration of control.  
Ambulon was flipped onto the berth, made to squirm against the knots of recharge cables snaking underneath him.   
He was arranged on his hands and knees when Max loomed behind him and reached forward. Applying steady pressure, Max pushed down between Ambulon’s shoulders until his chest made contact with the berth and his aft was left waggling in the air, his exposed interface components were getting chilly until Max sparingly pawed at them.   
This was escalating faster than Ambulon could respond.   
Then he felt something slither round his wrists.   
Restraining someone was second nature to a prison warden. By now Ambulon was pliable and made the job easy. Maximus used a recharge cable to bind Ambulon’s wrists together.   
As he reached over the body he’d wilfully subjugated he heard Ambulon whine.  
Maximus kissed his shoulders. Doing something so tender to balance the fact he was slowly dragging Ambulon’s immobilised wrists up the berth.  
Now he was helpless.  
That, combined with the warmth of Maximus’s body stirred a palpable arousal in him. Ambulon canted his hips and ground his aft against Fortress Maximus’s groin, which was remarkably cool considering this was all Max’s doing.   
“Are we clear, Ambulon?” Max’s hot ventilations caressed Ambulon’s plating. By now the merciless sting in his groin was all he could focus on. Ambulon couldn’t concentrate enough to answer. He was mindlessly rutting his aft against Max, leaving behind streaky smears of lubricant, presenting himself like an animal.  
A sharp slap to his aft made him reconsider the question.   
“UH! I” -   
Another slap, firmer, more commanding. It burned.  
“Yes!”  
Max struck him again, delighting in how Ambulon trembled.   
“Yes what?” He softly dragged his hand over Ambulon’s rear, smirking when the Autobot continued to flinch even as he started massaging the pain away.   
“Yes, we’re clear!”   
“Hmm, good.” As he leaned over Ambulon’s back, sneaky fingers delved into the shallows of his valve. Ambulon arched against his immovable weight, “Still feel like talking?”  
Ambulon whimpered. His joints ached, the cable chaffed against his wrists and drool pooled under his chin.  
“N - No.”


	8. Chapter 8

Systems hummed contently. Compared to last night it was a blessed calm. The room was still a mess but that didn’t matter. It was important to savour the moment - because they never lasted. 

When he stirred, at first, the presence of another form squashed against his body had alarmed Maximus. Parts of his body tensed and kept his optics shut. His muggy processor madly tried to make sense of what he felt. Was he back on Garrus - 9, was it another dream? No. 

The body beside him twitched, a soft keen of air expelled from sleepy vents. 

Fort Max remembered, the body beside him was Ambulon and he didn’t know how to respond. He should be relieved he wasn’t thrust back into circumstances he dreaded, it was a blessing that anybody was willing to leave themselves open to him. Recharging was a remarkable sign of trust and vulnerability, Maximus should have been grateful but all he felt was discomfort. 

Joint by joint, piston by piston he stiffened. He was pressed against the wall. In the night recharge cables had wrapped round his limbs. Ambulon was sandwiched against him and he couldn’t move without disturbing him.

Gulping, Maximus tried to control himself. His core heat was steadily on the rise and his fingers wriggled. He _had_ to get off the berth. 

No, he didn‘t _have_ to do anything. He wriggled minutely, Ambulon’s weight held him in place. Trying to relax his mindset was tricky, rational thought wasn’t his friend. He just needed to remind himself that he was aboard the Lost Light. Safe. Rung promised him he was safe. Overlord would never find him here. 

Not true, Overlord had already appeared once and even though Maximus had personally seen to that bastard’s ejection who’s to say he wouldn’t return. 

At every turn something was tripping him up. Wiggly fingers crunched into tight fists. 

Ambulon’s presence wasn’t at all reassuring - it was suffocating!  
He needed to get off the berth. 

Acting on the powerful urge, Maximus optics rebooted. At first he was given a blurry  extrapolation of his surroundings. The ceiling was a splogde of grey, beside him Ambulon was distorted into a mash of shapes he couldn’t make sense of until eventually, his optics revolved into focus and he found himself confronted by the strangest of sights. 

A leg. 

Ambulon was alerted to a shout. It was Max’s voice and it was Max’s hands that suddenly shot out and shoved him off the edge of the bed. 

Ambulon wasn’t allowed the leisure to lazily drift back into consciousness, he was jerked awake violently when he plating contacted with the solid ground. 

“GAK!” The only joint in his alt mode reflexively flinched. 

“What the frag?!” With his earlier anxiety stomped out of existence by this sudden surprise, Fortress Maximus was able to remain on the berth. He kneeled upright and stared down at Ambulon as he warily began unfolding, wincing and hissing. 

“What’s the matter? What happened?” Ambulon started massaging the plating that had sustained the brunt of his fall. The impact had shaken off a fair amount of paint from his shell, streaky orange lines had been scratched into the floor.

Maximus gaped.

“Y-You! You were a leg!” 

“Yeah, it’s called transforming: it’s a secret ability all we Cybertronians have. I sometimes do it in my sleep. It’s not uncommon.” 

“But you were a leg!” By now Ambulon was starting to realise the on going aches in his body were caused by being stiffly stuck in his alt-mode for most of the night. Max was searching him for an explanation. Ambulon sighed - at least one of them was a giver...    

“Before Delphi, I was selected to be a part of this...combiners program. They successfully persuaded my T-Cog to twist me into a leg and then, shortly after, the project fell through and I was ever so politely informed that my T-Cog would be permanently damaged if I tried to retake another alt-mode and transplants aren’t cheap, even for a Ward Manager. So I’ve been stuck as a leg ever since.” 

Maximus rolled his lips together. 

“You’re going to laugh!” 

With that Maximus broke, he guffawed hard and grinned when Ambulon looked stricken. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just...you’re a leg! That must be the _worst_ alt-form”-

“Ever, yeah, yeah, I’ve been told, thanks. Just be thankful I don’t transform into a bomb or something.” Ambulon knotted his limbs. He stayed on the floor, sat amid the catastrophe they couldn’t be bothered to clean up last night. Max’s smile sunk as he took it all in. An emptiness settled between them and Ambulon took pity, as was his nature. 

“I’m just glad I wasn’t made into the head.” He said in an effort to distract Maximus. 

“Why’s that?” 

“Because at least, as a leg I can still move around...sort of. I think being the head would be boring.” 

“Oh I don’t know,” Max accepted Ambulon into his arms when the smaller mech picked himself up and crept back onto the berth, “I think I could find some excellent uses for a head.” 

He leaned closer to Ambulon, lips pressed into a tight smirk full of suggestion.

“Hmm, you must be talking about my excellent conversational skills.” 

Very lightly, Max brushed his lips against Ambulon’s, effectively disarming the smaller mech. 

“Something like that...” 

He began dragging Ambulon onto his lap and, caught up in the pleasure of the company, Ambulon willingly let himself be guided. Maybe it wasn’t too late to salvage a quite morning’s reboot after spending their first night together properly - as couple’s should. Ambulon entwined himself in Max’s arms, listening to the welcoming thrum of Max’s power plant until a message, delayed by slow booting programs in his processor, displayed itself with a noticeable ping. Without a thought he dismissed it, his mind was devoted to the embrace but after a few seconds the message revived itself more prominently and Ambulon couldn’t ignore it. 

“What’s wrong?” Max whispered, feeling Ambulon freeze under his hands. 

It wasn’t a message, it was a reminder. 

“Slag.” In a mad hurry Ambulon scrambled off Max’s lap, the bottom of his tanks plummeted and all the good feeling as cruelly snatched away. “I’ve got a shift! I fragging forgot. Primus! Ratchet’s going to kill me!” He patted himself down and searched his frame work - in particular his thighs - for any messy blue transfers. He might be able to convince Ratchet the marks were remnants of his old paint job but First Aid knew better. “I don’t have my keycard either, aw frag sake!” 

“Better hop to it.” 

Maximus was reclining on the berth watching Ambulon fret. 

Ambulon paused, it took a moment to sink in. He’d heard all the puns before but it was a renewed surprise to hear it coming from Fort Max.

“Ha-ha.” 

He started heading for the door, skipping and weaving round the mess to get there. 

“I’ll meet you in Swerve’s later...umm,” He looked back round the room, “Do you want any help cleaning this up.” The matter was a tender subject he could tell. Max had his work cut out for him. Ambulon didn’t know why he risked asking, he couldn’t forgo his shift for the sake of tidying someone else’s mess but, if Max said yes, he knew he would. He’d get an ear-full off Ratchet but Ambulon would suffer it for Max, and suffer it gladly.  
“Nah, I’ll sort it but, umm...”

Ambulon hesitated in the doorway,

“Would you still consider, maybe, writing me a reference...you know, for work. Obviously you might be reconsidering”-

“I hadn’t forgotten Max, you’ll have it soon enough.” 

That seemed to brighten Max’s spirits. 

“Okay, see you tonight ... break a leg.”

“Frag you!” 

Ambulon was smiling to himself when he left the room but that pleasant past time quickly faded the moment he stepped into view of Brainstorm’s door. He paused and remembered last night’s events, what he’d tried to persuade Max to do. Even though he’d very submissively promised Max he’d leave the matter alone, in the clarity of his own uninfluenced thoughts Ambulon was sure waving the situation was the wrong thing do to.

He looked at Brainstorm’s door, then back at Fortress Maximus’s and his lips curled into a grimace. He was considering paying Brainstorm a visit and smoothing things over on Max’s behalf, just considering it. Because actually acting on the compulsion would be going behind Max’s back - that same action had nearly cost Brainstorm his shoulder armature last night. Ambulon wasn’t sure if he could talk his way out of the repercussions of conflicting with Maximus.  

To add to the mind-splitting pressure, Ambulon needed to make his decision now. Stalling was making him even more late for work. Ratchet really was going to kill him - this was meant to be the old doctor’s off-shift. 

At this moment in time Ambulon real was in trouble. 

He felt as conflicted as he did when picking his allegiance between Autobot and Decepticon. Laughably he wondered to himself - out of the two situations, which was the most life threatening. 

Slowly, he wandered up to Brainstorm’s door and tried to take comfort in the knowledge that what he was about to do next would only cause him trouble if Max found out. 

 

 

 

First Aid kept glancing at the door to the medical bay. He was nervous for two reasons: the first being that he was privy to the knowledge of how angry Ratchet was at that moment, the second regarded Ambulon; he was anxious to see his friend intact and not bent out of shape by another maniac. 

The memory of Delphi provoked a grimace, First Aid recalled Ambulon stumbling into their hab suite at very late hours wincing and shivering on the berth then swearing (lying) to First Aid that he was fine. It was always worse when Ambulon would smile as he said so, as if the little puddle of energon he woke up in was nothing to be concerned over. 

_It won’t happen again_ he’d make that promise every time and every time those words left his mouth First Aid wanted to wipe the plastic smile off Ambulon’s tired face or shake him until he saw sense!

But maybe that was just Ambulon. First Aid had read about this. Maybe he was one of those mechs that just liked being used.

First Aid scoffed quietly to himself. 

If Ambulon wanted to emotionally gut himself so be it, First Aid’s only wish was that he’d do it with partners lacking in the capability to snap him in half.    

When Ambulon finally rushed into the medical bay relief washed through First Aid like tsunami waves, the sensation quickly ebbed and left behind frustration. Across the room he glared. Ambulon glanced at him, his yellow optics rounded like a startled animal. 

It wasn’t a madly busy morning. But there was patients waiting. They would have been waiting anyway but Ratchet could argue that they wouldn’t be if Ambulon kept to the schedule. 

With visible trepidation, Ambulon marched across the room to where Ratchet was tinkering with Blaster’s faulty audio. Of all the bot’s to develop tinnitus. Blaster could have really done without it. 

Ambulon stopped and hovered. He was facing Ratchet’s back, trying to find a suitable break in Ratchet’s ranting to swoop in and make his apologises. The flow of irritated chatter was unending. Ambulon’s hands curled into fists. Behind him he knew First Aid was still glaring, he felt the attention like an itch.

He considered diving headlong into his rounds and avoiding this conversation entirely. It was tempting, but it wouldn’t work. It was his duty to dismiss Ratchet when he was due to take over his rounds. 

It took a lot of extra personal strength but eventually Ambulon plucked up the courage to push his nose into Ratchet’s view. 

“Sorry I’m late, I uh,”-

“Get to your patients!” Ratchet growled.   

Something in his tone blared murder. Ambulon scurried to a safe corner of the room where the rosters were stored.

He compared his roster to the accumulation of patients huddled in an arrangement of chairs near door. Tailgate was there again, joy of joys. His optics flickered. Today was going to be long. He could feel the fatigue of barely half a night’s recharge settling into his circuits like neuralgia. The struggle was only just beginning. 

Telling himself to stay focused wasn’t good enough, he had to _be_ focused.

“What the actually frag happened last night?”

First Aid hissing over his shoulder made him flinch.

“Primus!”

“Do you have any idea how pissed off he is about having to cover for you? Why are you late?”

“My chronometer didn’t alert me”-

“That’s slag!”

Ambulon was taken aback. So were a few other waiting patients who’d been drawn to the noise. 

Ambulon stopped what he was doing and turned to confront First Aid before he could continue spouting nonsense. 

At least First Aid had some decency, despite his frustration, for Ambulon’s benefit he  continued the conversation in a more private tone. 

“Look at the state of you, did you even recharge at all?”

“I slept...it wasn’t recharge.”

“Of course it wasn’t...you were probably to busy fragging.”

The outrage in Ambulon’s expression flared. He’d been expecting a few snide digs but nothing so outrightly blunt. Not so soon and definitely not from First Aid.   

“I stayed over there last night to calm him down”-

“Right and did this ‘calming down‘ business involve him sticking his spike up your valve.”

“What the- Who the frag- Excuse me?!” Ambulon was twitching from the accusation.  It wasn’t at all like First Aid to be this aggressive. They’d had their altercations in the past but this was something different. This was vicious and Ambulon was made to feel like he had no ground to stand upon. 

“Do you have any concept of how dangerous that is? I’m his attending I know what he’s slagging got and this so called ‘calming down‘ as you call it, is putting both of you at risk!”   

Ambulon stumbled over his retort. Rather than snap he reordered his notes.

“I know what he’s got. I helped rebuild him remember?”

“Exactly! I do remember, and that’s not all I remember.”

“First Aid...”

“When I first suggested reviving him with the jumpstart what did you say?”

Ambulon knew what First Aid wanted to hear but kept his mouth shut firmly.

“You said,” First Aid continued anyway, oblivious to how angry that made Ambulon, “Quote, unquote: ‘Waking him up would be cruel, he’s got more slag riddling his hardware than a Decepticon brothel and Fortress Maximus would be better off de”-

“What is your _point?!_ ” 

“That you’re not doing yourself any favours.”

“SO?!” The attention had been shedding off them, now it was back - tenfold, “ _So_?! What difference does it make to you? If I don’t look out for him who else will?”

“No, ‘looking out’ for someone is what I’m doing here. Your concept of what ‘looking out’ for someone entails is _wrong_. Nobody thinks you’re looking out for him at all, they just think you’re taking advantage of a vulnerable patient for the sake of a good frag!”

Ambulon snatched First Aid’s arm and twisted it in a painfully tight grasp until the other medic squirmed closer.

“They? Or is that just what you think?! Because I thought you weren’t going to gossip!”

“I can’t help what other people say! You paraded over to our table the other night holding his hand it’s bound to”-

“He was nervous!”

“We were all fragging nervous!” 

Something silver whizzed between them, severing the conversation abruptly. Both mech skipped back and gazed wildly over at Ratchet. His expression was darker than thunder clouds. His optics were dull with a fatigue Ambulon shared and when he opened his mouth Ambulon flinched before the shouting could even begin.

“Will you two stop gassing and do your damn jobs?!”

“Yes, sir.” They both muttered and diverged on separate routes. The energy Ambulon had expended on keeping himself in check had weakened him all the more. Now he was tired and petulant and conscious that everyone in this room thought he was preying on someone in his care for interfacing. 

He felt sick... and scared, because at any moment he knew Ratchet would be coming to tear him to bits for being late. 

Old, grumpy mechs never liked to be robbed of their recharge.

“What’s the problem today, Tailgate?” Ambulon asked when the little mech clambered onto the medical slab in front of him. Tailgate winced and sighed.

“Same problem,” His face pinched with pain when as he tried to arrange himself on the berth, “My joints are playing up. Particularly my hips.” 

“Let’s see.” Ambulon assessed the joints, gently testing the functions of Tailgate’s legs. Movement was a labour, Tailgate gasped and flinched and tried to wriggle away despite this being for his benefit. Ambulon relaxed his grasp and returned to reviewing his notes. He frowned. 

“W-What is it?” Tailgate hiccuped, still squirming.

“How’re your transformation sequences going, are they fluid?”

“Well...um not really, I get so far then my joints start to get sore and I stop, I could probably complete a sequence if I pushed it but”-

“No, don’t push it, it’ll hurt. Hmm,” Thinking on the go, Ambulon’s finger transformed into a little torch which he proceeded to wave in front of Tailgate’s visor. The reaction to the sudden onslaught of light was minute, Tailgate optics remained dilated and he cringed away.

“Ow!” He mumbled, rubbing away the pain of overexposed receptor terminals. Ambulon sunk into deep thoughts. Tailgate’s history in the medbay was surprisingly extensive. It was never for anything major, just little things - but it amounted to a lot. 

“Why are you still frowning? Frowning’s not good.”

Not wanting to worry the little ‘bot more than he already did, Ambulon waved off Tailgate’s concerns with a dry laugh.

“I’m sure it’s nothing, it’s probably just a case of some old ball sockets that need replacing but I want to take a sample of your inner most energon to be sure.”

“O-Okay.”

Ambulon smiled. The moment he turned away the smile dropped off his face. He’d forgotten to pick up his key card to access the equipment cabinet.

Primus dammit! 

He needed to borrow one. Normally, it wasn’t a big deal. But considering he didn’t want to breathe the same air as First Aid at the minute and how angry Ratchet was with him the choice he was presented with was a difficult one. 

He’d live to regret it but he opted for Ratchet over First Aid.

Frag First Aid, the cheeky glitch. 

Ratchet was still attending Blaster.

After a preliminary sweep of the situation Ambulon concluded all medical practices between the two had finished, now they were idly nattering about better times. Ambulon might not be interrupting anything serious but he knew Ratchet wouldn’t appreciate being pestered. 

Especially not by Ambulon because he was a forgetful, stupid, late, moronic - suddenly, going over to First Aid seemed like a better idea. Yes, enduring First Aid’s bitch fits were preferable to being dragged through the mud for oversleeping.

“Can I help you, Ambulon?”

FRAG, SLAG AHRGSFAGFDSFDDS. WHY?! Fragging why?! He was about to turn around, why did Ratchet chose then to spot him, loitering in the middle of the room like a horror-struck technomammal about to get crushed under the wheels of a tank. 

“Uh I um.”   
“Well?” Ratchet and Blaster were staring at him. He just wanted to melt. 

“Can I please borrow your key to the equipment cabinet please?” 

“Where’s your key?”

_Up your exhaust!_

“I forgot it.” Every syllable felt heavy on his glossa. 

Ratchet chuffed and irritable breath. Ambulon blanched. 

“I guess I better head off then Ratch’,” Blaster patted his friend on the shoulder, “When’s your shift finished?”

“Two fragging hours ago.” Through the whole sentence he was glowering at Ambulon, his aggression becoming so intense Blaster was aware of it prickling against his energy fields.

“Oh, well then,” A nervous laugh, “I guess I’ll see you when I see you.” Blaster hurried off, giving Ambulon a look of utmost condolence as he raced out of the door. 

It was just the two of them now, with Tailgate anxiously watching in the distance wondering what was taking so long. Ratchet crossed his arms over his chest.

“What’s in the medicine cabinet?” 

“The vials I need to take a sample of innermost energon.”

“Innermost energon? Why on Cybertron would you need that, are you planning on praying for your patients to return to good health?” 

Ambulon could feel himself weakening. 

“No, I want to test Tailgate for Cybercrosis.” 

Ratchet met Ambulon’s stare dead on. It felt like an evaluation of character strength and, despite how crummy he felt inside Ambulon was relieved to say he didn’t allow himself to be intimidated. 

Although he wasn’t gifted the key to the equipment cabinet Ratchet graced him with the benefit of a second opinion. He pushed past Ambulon. 

“Hello Tailgate.”

“Doctor.”

“What seems to be the problem?”

As Tailgate digressed into a transcript of his most recent ailments, Ratchet thumbed through the notes Ambulon had condense on his patient over the weeks. 

“Hmm, and do you usual find it gets worse after vigorous exercise?” 

Vigorous exercise? Tailgate was more than six million years old with no present occupation aboard the Lost Light and no enthusiasm for fitness what the hell was vigorous about that? But to Ambulon’s astonishment Tailgate shied away a little, two fingers nervously tented and wiggled,

“By exercise does that include...”

“You know it does.” Ratchet smirked and Tailgate looked very sheepish all of a sudden. 

“Then yes...I suppose.”

“There’s your problem.” Ratchet said, more so for Ambulon’s benefit while extending the clipboard and lightly smacking Tailgate atop of his helm, “Tell Cyclonus not to be so rough next time. He’s wearing you out before you can heal properly.”

Tailgate climbed down from the berth.

“Okay, thank you Doctor, it won’t happen again.”

And he scurried off before more information on his personal affairs could be pulled out of him. 

Ambulon watched his patient hobble away with a slack jaw but his view was abruptly obstructed by Ratchet’s scowling face. 

“Cybercrosis, really?! I hope you didn’t tell him that theory, you’d bloody scare the guy to death. Seriously, Ambulon what is the matter with you today?!” 

“I, er, I,” He’d spotted First Aid watching them intently. Ambulon bet the nosy prick was enjoying this. 

“Ambulon?!” 

“I’m sorry, I had trouble recharging last night and my chronometer didn’t wake me on time ... I know that’s not a very good excuse but”-

“You’re damn right it’s not! As a medic you’re supposed to be taking this job seriously and as of recently, I’m not sure you are.”

“What?!” That accusation struck a nerve, “When have I ever”-

“Do not give me that slag, the other day you turned up for your shift overcharged and don’t you dare pretend you didn’t! Look, if there’s something going on with you that you want to tell me about now’s your chance because quite frankly this,” He waved his hand up and down Ambulon’s stooped posture, “Turning up late and forgetting things is not good enough and that last diagnosis you just called was very poor judgment. It makes me question whether or not your fit to perform your duty.”

“W-What?! Come on, don’t be ridiculous, I just over slept! Once. I’m fine!”

“I want you to take the rest of the day off.” 

Ambulon nearly gagged.

“ _What?!_ I don’t, look, I promise, I _swear_ it will never happen again”-

“I’m not arguing with you. Take the rest of the day off, recharge, get your head together and when you come back tomorrow I want you in top condition. Are we clear?”  

Ambulon gaped. From across Ratchet’s shoulder he looked to First Aid but found no support. The other medic met his gaze then pointedly turned away and reconsidered the clipboard in his hands. An unsettling emptiness stirred Ambulon’s tanks and he lost the will to continue reasoning. 

“Yes, Sir.” He muttered. 

The patients, he realised, were staring at him as well, their heads turning collectively to follow him and Ambulon rushed out of the medbay. 

The corridor was less crowded. Thankfully. By the time he rounded the next corridor there wasn’t a soul in sight. 

It was an opportunity to stop and consider things. A lot had happened in the past half hour, things he could hardly comprehend, had hoped never to hear had been said and they caught up with him too quickly. 

Like gremlins he felt the embarrassment and the bad gossip race around his mind and it haggard him. 

Ambulon didn’t know what to do. He could go to Swerve’s early but he didn’t think that would help. He considered confiding in Max but Max had enough problems of his own without being made to suffer Ambulon’s as well. 

The wall he was leaning against felt like the last stable thing in Ambulon’s life. He kept one hand resting upon it as he trudged back to his hab suite, dragging his hand over every rivet and indentation. When people passed him he kept the contact to a minimum even if they looked like they wanted to talk. 

He staggered into his hab suite. The door closed behind him. Locked in the safety of those four walls Ambulon slid to the ground, his back leaning on the door, hands pressing against his audios. 

His recharge slab was an inviting sight but despite how heavy his optic’s were, he didn’t feel like rest anymore. His mind was writhing with activity, he was too alert to rest.

It was a horrible, helpless feeling that attacked him. The misdiagnosis had been a rookie mistake, First Aid’s merciless conveying of gossip still stung like an open wound. 

The crew thought he was using Max. For a moment Ambulon thought it might have been the other way round. On further analysis he didn’t know what to make of the situation. He held onto the hope that it was just First Aid’s opinion spoken without complacency in the heat of the moment. 

But First Aid knew him better than anyone aboard the Lost Light, he should know Ambulon would never set out to take advantage. The blatant disregard wounded Ambulon. 

He expected an apology and as he sat on the floor moping he plotted a strategy for achieving said apology. 

There was only so much scheming he could accomplish sitting on the floor, and feeling sorry for himself was starting ware on him. It was unusual to be pledged so much free time. On his off shifts  Ambulon normally engrossed himself in studies of medicine and reviews all of Ratchet’s journals...there were a lot of them.

With that thought Ambulon decided now would be a good opportunity to bush up on his knowledge of cybercrosis. 

Ratchet ate the medical business for breakfast - there wasn’t a thing he didn’t know. First Aid had a gift for abstract thinking. Ambulon just worked hard. He committed himself to hours of research.

In his bed side draw, underneath his wayward keycard was a stack of medical texts stored on datapads. He removed them, one by one, and flicked through the contents until he came across the topic of cybercrosis. 

Then he sat at his desk and started reading. His helm bobbed, his optics flickered, the text blurred and faded to black but some how he got through the chapters. Although it was difficult to absorb what he was reading when all he could think of was Maximus.

“Uhh.” He scrubbed his palms down his face. He still had hours until he was due to meet up with him at Swerve’s. The time couldn’t go fast enough. By then he hoped to calm down or else be calmed down.  

Fortress Maximus was hard to hug but Ambulon hoped he could coax one out of the larger mech...with the right leverage.

Setting aside his notes on cybercrosis Ambulon went about writing Max his much desired work reference. 

It was a silly bargain, obviously he’d give Max the reference regardless, but presently all Ambulon wanted was some warmth. It would be a mutual thing. None of this ridiculous, upsetting one side benefit First Aid claimed their relationship to be. A reference: a source of purpose for Max and a bit of comforting to ease the stress away for Ambulon.

 No one would consider Fortress Maximus a suitable person to provide that sort of service but, for Ambulon, there was no one aboard this ship he’d rather hold or be held by. 

Writing the reference wasn’t hard. Ambulon had written plenty of them for other patients. He finished it still with time to spare. 

Just enough time to get to Swerve’s and buy him and Max a drink before the crowds came rushing in after the day-shift ended. A crowd he would have normally been a part of.

He made his way to the bar briskly, still tired but less wobbly than before, the data-pad scripting Max’s reference held in both hands. He read over it again as he made his into the bar, just to sure it was free of any mistakes. He was so absorbed in the text that he  didn’t even look up as the sterile light of the corridors faded and warmed into the amiable conditions of Swerve’s... 

Only, the air had a distinctly colder nip, it was quieter to, more suspicious and Ambulon could feel a prickle of tension tantilising his EM fields.  

He pulled his face away from the data pad. 

Ahead of him, his usual table where he sat with Max was empty which was no surprise, to his right, however, in the booth his friend’s congregated at, sat a few familiar faces.

Skids, Atomizer, Huffer, Hound and Sunstreaker to name a few... they were staring at him. Just watching. Not calling him over or bothering to make any attempt to acknowledge him. 

Was this...judgment?    

He wanted to believe it was just paranoia, born from the parasitic idea First Aid had infected him with that leached off his confidence to Ambulon’s detriment. 

They were still vacantly looking at him and Ambulon stared back. 

He was determined to prove First Aid wrong. Equally, he was desperate. 

But when he took his first steps toward their table and all their heads immediately turned to face their drinks Ambulon decided he’d seen enough. 

Determination didn’t matter if he didn’t want to know the answer anymore.

It wasn’t even worth the trouble of confronting them. He didn’t want to hear them stumble over slag to speak to him.   

What was left of his self-worth shattered. 

He fled Swerve’s and headed for Maximus’s. Too angry to think of anything except how angry he was. It was a dangerous loop to be trapped in. He knew Max would be able to relate.

When he pressed the buzzer outside Maximus’s hab suite the door swung open immediately. 

The room was in the same dismal state he’d left it in. In the darkness Maximus was brooding; hunched on the edge of his berth with his elbows propped on his knees. 

Ambulon was stepping over the threshold, the coil of misery still wound tightly in his gut.

Then Max spoke.

“What did you say to Brainstorm?” 


	9. Chapter 9

His next appointment with Rung was scheduled for tomorrow giving Fortress Maximus another day of nothing. Rung called it an opportunity to reflect but Max found out by himself that it was just another chance to feel remorseful. 

Being left alone was terrible. Being in the company of others was awkward. Waking up with someone was unbearable. 

There was no middle ground. In solitude he craved company, when he was with Ambulon he was self-conscious. 

Interfacing was one thing, sharing his berth was entirely too intimate. 

Garrus-9 trained him into believing interfacing was for other people’s pleasure, never his own, even when Overlord cooed at him and praised him for obedience like a pet. 

Although he was free of the prison he couldn’t shake the feeling. An unconscious part of him wouldn’t let him leave the room he’d been locked in for two and a half years. 

In that room the only way to protect himself was to withdraw his mind and turn over his body. Garrus-9 had detached his thoughts from his feelings. While Decepticons raped him, Fortress Maximus promised himself he was looking at the bigger picture. By surrendering himself this once he was reserving his energy, biding his time until he had an opportunity to strike back and it wouldn’t be fruitless. He made that promise to himself, every time he made it the sense of hopelessness was ground a little deeper. 

Despite his delusions of protection it was impossible to remain unaffected. The pain he felt wasn‘t the kind he could get used to. When he wailed and begged for mercy the Decepticon’s would think they’d won. Fortress Maximus would recede deeper into himself, uttering false assurances. Telling himself he’d be fine, that with determination, endurance and cunning he could beat this system. 

He forestalled his fight for so long. The moment to act never arrived. Eventually he lost sight of what he was clinging to. 

His dignity had been taken, he’d fallen to his knees in front of the Phase-Sixer for the sakes of a garrison he’d not seen in months. He traded his body for theirs. Given himself over. Fortress Maximus was made to sleep beside the Phase-Sixer and pretend all he ever aspired to be was Overlord’s toy. 

The Autobot’s weren’t coming for him. His Garrison was dead although he hand no proof of that. He was so revolted by himself that the punishment he suffered started to feel deserved. 

That was why excepting Ambulon as anything more than an object with the will to frag him was complicated. Fortress Maximus had forgotten what it meant to be sincere. Remembering hurt... so did his hand. 

But as much as it pained him he still continued to fix his room. 

As much as he almost dreaded seeing Ambulon again, he didn’t want Ambulon to see the room in the same disarray as he’d left it. Even if it was taking a long time. 

He’s done more damage than he’d realised. Big hands designed for fighting found it easy to pull and tear things out of place. A unit that had been screwed to the wall needed mending, the brackets were broken. 

Maximus lacked tools, he needed to borrow some and in his quest to find the necessary equipment he was forced to venture out of his hab suite. 

Walking the corridors of the Lost Light made him feel like an alien. The bots he passed acknowledged him not because they were being polite, it was because they were fearful of him. He sensed the tremors in their EM fields wobbling against his as he walked by. 

It took time to find what he needed, Maximus hadn’t had a reason to explore the ship until now. The layout was unfamiliar to him. But he’d managed to find Swerve’s well enough by his own deductions so he was positive he could find a cargo bay or tool closet somewhere. He knew he’d have to sneak out what he required, no one would clear him for rental, he thought dismally. 

Luckily, when he happened upon a utility storage outlet it was in darkness. He assumed that meant no one was home and he could operate swiftly and. In and out before any alarms were raised. 

“Lights: On.” When he gave the order he learned his hope was premature.

The space flooded with light and startled the shady company lurking in the corner of the room, half hidden behind some tall containers stacked on top of each other.

Whatever Whirl was inspecting he dropped hastily and spun round, readily defensive and keen to squabble. His erratic energy fields fuzzed excitedly when he learned he’d been discovered by Fortress Maximus. 

There was no pending authority Maximus could impress upon Whirl, as such, Whirl wasn’t so concerned about what Fort Max might have caught him doing. 

Max didn’t know what Whirl was doing when he entered the room but he was certain the delinquent was up to no good. 

Whirl had a reputation, the kind that Maximus was frequently responsible for maintaining during his successful years as a prison warden. 

It could be likened to maternal instinct. Maximus knew how to handle criminals - it was a part of him he’d forgotten about, now it was yearning to be rediscovered. 

“You startled me, Maxy.” Whirl was aggressively cheerful, infinitely snide. Using just the glow of his optic he purposely baited Fortress Maximus with the promise of confrontation. 

He stooped down low, segmented legs collapsing gracefully and retrieved the item he’d dropped in a panic. It was some sort of gyro saw. 

The sight of it twisted Max’s gut. 

He recalled the bite of the savage blade rotating into his armour. His denta chewed on his glossa. Whirl swayed the tool around carelessly.

Primus he hated it. Hated the machine, hated Whirl’s lack of appreciation for the damage it could cause and moreover, what would Whirl need a gyro saw for? 

It was too suspicious, too dangerous to ignore. 

“What are you doing with that?” A part of Max didn’t want to know and told him he should mind his own business but the other side of his personality, the tarnished veneer of his former occupation pressed him into asking questions he shouldn’t. 

“Oh this?” Whirl stepped out of the shadow of the crates, swinging the saw by its hand between his claws, all the while steadily making his way over to Max. Max took a reflexive step back. The closer the saw got the harder it was to fight off the urge to run. Whirl saw his reaction and took it as an opportunity. The pressure to answer Max’s questions wasn’t there anymore. The situation was his to take advantage of, “I’m so pleased they let you out of the brig Maxy, even though I’m sure you felt quite at home in there. Cells and stasis cuffs: they’re really, well, they are just your thing aren’t they? Hmm?” When he was close enough he leered up at Maximus standing between Whirl and the door, who all the while kept his optics glued on the condition of the saw, “Ah, no, what I meant to say, what I mean to say, is that I am so glad they let you out of the brig because it takes some of the heat off me.”

Was Whirl grinning, probably. Max didn’t like the way his optic kept twitching. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Oh, you know how exhausting it can be, always in the lime light, on the radar, the entire crew simply itching for you to screw up.”

Max didn’t know where to turn. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do,” Whirl sang, “See, it’s like I said, you and I aren’t so different. You can pretend you’re above me and that your _ideals_ set us apart but not so deep down, I think we both know, that you’re just as angry as I am and looking for excuses to snap.”

“Is that what this is? You goading me in the hope I’ll threaten you and you’ll have an excuse to start a fight?”

“Why would I want to fight you when we’re so alike? Besides, if you and I were to fight, here and now, even though I’d win overall I’d lose out, I placed my bets on two weeks from now.”

Whirl, although he seemed content to leave the conversation there, knew Fortress Maximus wouldn’t be able to resist the curiosity.

“What bets?”

“Oh so you didn’t know?” Whirl spun round gleefully, “Well that is interesting. I thought for sure Ambulon wouldn’t leave you in the lurch.”

“What _bets_?” 

“You should see it! The jackpot’s going up by the day and it’s all on you, Max. Everyone’s in on it. Waiting for you to have another episode, which is why I really, _really_ should be thanking you because no one is interested in what I do anymore. All eyes are on you.” 

“You’re...they think I’m going to lose it.”

“They expect it! And we’re all chomping at the bit to see some action but if you could just try and coincide your next psychotic spell maybe somewhere around the region of two weeks time, that would really help me out. Mate.” 

“I am not your _mate_.”

“Sure you are, and if you help me out with this I’ll split my profit with you: fifty fifty. No wait, eighty, twenty. To me.”

It was very tempting to say frag to public relations and slug Whirl right in his obnoxious face. 

“Well, what do you say?”

“I say slag you.” 

“Ah-Ha-ha, what a sense of humor. I’ll see you in two weeks.”

“No.”

“Why not? What have you got that’s worth forgoing the chance of earning a few shanix for yourself and your buddy Whirl? I mean _maybe_ you’ll get chucked back in the stocks for a few weeks but what difference does that make to you? Too many bad memories? Or is just that you can’t wank under surveillance?”  

Feeling that his point, whatever it was meant to be, was made Whirl swaggered away from Fortress Maximus firmly pinching the larger mech’s aft on his way to the door.

Maximus leapt away from the unwelcome contact, spun round and furiously glared at his harasser. 

“Ah ah,” Whirl wagged the offending claw, “Remember, no fighting until two weeks.” Then he skittered away, the gyro saw slung across his skinny shoulders, unfeeling of the blade’s teeth scraping against his armour. 

Max stood.

What was the point in looking for tools to mend his room anymore, all he wanted to do was tear it apart again. As the anger frothed in his tanks Max hysterically wondered if Whirl was right, were they really that different? How could Max compare himself to that debauched twist of metal? How could they ever be alike? But Maximus’s place in the crew was undeniably similar to Whirl’s - not wanted. A hazard. A walking drama.         
A screw driver and some replacement brackets dug out from a container disappeared into his hands. He left the utility storage quietly. Thinking about how much he didn’t want to be like Whirl. Unlike mending a couple of rent brackets it wasn’t an easy problem to solve. A reputation was tricky to spurn. 

Max had been proud of his reputation. He was remembered for fighting for the rights of others, for his service to the Autobot cause. Now he was only thought of as the hostage taker who threw his toys out of the pram when things didn’t go according to his plans. 

It was an embarrassment to who he used to be. That admission burned his self-esteem. He wasn’t the person people applauded anymore. He was corrupted and wounded. The weight of his inadequacies weighed on his shoulders. 

He needed to redeem himself. 

Not just to gain acceptance, but to reaffirm some of the confidence that had once made him strong. 

Whirl would not get into his head. He’d suck the poison out before it took hold. 

He would repair himself. He would take back the respect he’d had stolen from him. 

It started today, with Brainstorm. It started by making Ambulon proud and doing something unexpected. 

Ambulon would be pleased to hear he’d taken his advice, even having fervently protested it. 

It would be a small step but a good place to start nevertheless.

He gripped the tools in his hands carefully. Slightly nervous, but he put on a brave front and stopped by Brainstorm’s laboratory on the way back to his habitation suite. 

The room was another challenge to find but he did so eventual. His unannounced visit was a terrible surprise for Brainstorm. 

The scientist flinched, consternation generated by association rattled his EM fields when he saw it was Max standing just beyond his door. 

“C-Can I help you?” He squeaked. Brainstorm glanced at a specific corner in the ceiling - the location of a security camera, Max learned when he followed the scientists stare. 

He grunted and Brainstorm gulped. 

“ About last night, I came to apologise.” Maximus was careful not to overcrowd Brainstorm who was very skittish, “I regret causing a disturbance and nothing like that will ever happen again. I am sorry, if there’s anything I can do to make it up to you...”

Brainstorm didn’t risk turning his back on the larger autobot, but he did set aside whatever he’d been tinkering with. 

“That’s okay, Max. Ambulon stopped by this morning and did enough apologising for the both of you, so, there’s really nothing more to say. I forgive you.”

His hold on the small tools nestled in his palms got tighter.

“Ambulon was here?” 

It didn’t matter that he was here now, he’d told Ambulon not to come. Made him promise that he wouldn’t grovel. 

“Yeah. Poor guy. You must really mean something to him. He practically begged me not to go to Ultra Magnus, I mean, I wasn’t going to anyway but he seemed convinced that I was going to file a complaint,”

Brainstorm kept talking, Maximus stopped listening. He had an image in his mind of Ambulon’s blandish behaviour, sniveling on Max’s behalf.

Max didn’t want that. He didn’t need someone coddling him. Someone deceiving him. Ambulon said he wouldn’t go to Brainstorm and Maximus had believed him.

It was a lie. Did Ambulon have any intension of keeping the promise at all? 

Ambulon was meant to be his friend. Max wanted him on his side of the argument. Always. He didn’t care if he was wrong, if he was making a mistake so be it. 

If Max couldn’t trust him what was the point. 

Ambulon might find it easy to sleep beside someone and be false. Max couldn’t. 

Was Ambulon even apologising for Max’s benefit or doing it to save his own grimy paint job?

Was the answer worth knowing? 

He dismissed himself from Brainstorm’s and thundered back to his quarters knowing sooner or later the medic would come looking for him. Ambulon was very predictable after all. 

If today was about making changes then this was a lousy start. 

As soon as he entered his hab suite he discarded the tools he’d collected and threw over the unit he’d propped against the wall, returning the room to last night’s state of catastrophe. The noise was terrific, it over powered his anguished roar.

What if Whirl was right? What did he have right now that was worth anything to him?

His guard was slipping away. The poison he’d been determined to neutralise was setting fire to his circuits. 

He hid in his room with the lights off. He couldn’t hurt anybody here, he couldn’t play a part in any stupid bet. 

Nobody wanted him to get better. They just wanted to see him break. Like vultures! He hated them! Hated them all! Hated their judgment, hated the plastic smiles and the lies. Hated that he’d allowed one of them into his berth.

Hated that he’d let that person make him feel something more than loneliness. For a small moment there’d been hope and now it was gone and just as he reached his most despondent...

The door swooshed open and there was Ambulon, his shape blackened out by the harsh light of the corridor and suddenly Max wasn’t angry anymore. 

 He was afraid. There was an uncanny resemblance of how Overlord used to look at the end of the day when he’d pay Max a visit. 

Max would be restrained to the berth. Overlord would stand in the light, blocking the exit, savouring the sight of the despair he caused.    

“What did you say to Brainstorm?” It came out louder than he’d intended. Demanding with a tremor of anguish lacing the raspy noise. The sound of the ache in his spark. 

Ambulon wavered in the doorway. Frozen as a dark spectre in Maximus’s sight. 

Ambulon’s throat constricted and he stumbled over excuses. A rumble of frustrated gears filled the room and Ambulon stopped fumbling.

He didn’t know whether he was meant to feel guilty or angry that he was being chastised for trying to help.

“I asked him to forgive us for last night and not to go to Ultra Magnus.” The confession was made in a small, honest voice. Ambulon took two careful steps into the room, noting that it was still in the same state of disrepair. 

The door closed behind him. Trapping them both in darkness. The light of the stars highlighted the edges of their frames. 

“Why?”

The response was deadpan and calculated. No gushing, no fuss, just information. 

“Because I was afraid and didn’t want to see you shut away again.”

“Really?”

Bitterness and mistrust; Ambulon was aware of it flooding Max’s EM fields. At the same time anxiety swirled in his. 

“Because I asked you not to.”

“I know but, Max”-

“I can take care of myself!” 

The shout struck Ambulon. Inside, he felt his spark clench and internal casing shudder. In the darkness, Fort Max watched the glow of yellow optics dim. In Ambulon’s energy fields Max sensed fatigue and a weary soul.    

“I went to Brainstorm hoping to make amends on my own terms. I don’t need you getting in the way. It’s exactly what I told you not to do and you just did it anyway. Why? Is it because you think you know better, or because your only concerned about saving your own aft?!”

Fingers clenched tightly round the data pad, optics screwed shut, everything was being twisted on him. It wasn’t fair. He was trying to help, he was medic, all he ever tried to do was fix other people’s problems. It occurred to him to start being more selfish. But even with that thought looking so inviting Ambulon still didn’t have the will to snap back.

He took the pounding. Drowned in the pressure of the day’s trials: the judgment, the criticism, rejection. In Fort Max’s words he heard First Aid’s accusations being fortified. It was a shattering punch.

Fortress Maximus’s eyes glowed angry red. Hanging on for a response, an explanation, something, anything he could lash out at.

“Saving _your_ aft.” He murmured, “You’re welcome.” He was bending but not willing to roll over. 

Maximus stood up sharply. He towered over Ambulon, the closer he got the more Ambulon shrank under his wrath but didn’t hesitate to cut him off when Max was about ready to explode on him.  

“Is that all you think?” Fortress Maximus sucked back his rant. Ambulon had a lot of gall to meet his stare directly, “I was late for work today because I wasted half a recharge cycle looking after you, I had First Aid insult me because of it and Ratchet undermine my diagnosis and then send me home early because he thought I was _unfit_ to perform my duties. I am tired and stressed and to top it off I am being accused of things by my friends and shunned all for trying to help you!”

“So what you’re saying is that I bring you down.”

“What I’m saying is that I would do _anything_ for you Max!” It wasn’t the first time Max had heard Ambulon shout, “No matter how much it costs me. My job, being a medic saved my life. I had _nothing_ before Delphi. When I was dropped from the combiners program I thought it was the end, having a job gave me something to aspire to so when you said you missed working I knew exactly how you felt. I’ve gone out of my way to help you so here’s you’re damn reference.” And he pushed the letter of recommendation against the large mech’s chest, “Ratchet thinks I’m a waster but I don’t care because I was with you, which made being late for one stupid shift worthwhile. If you’d asked me to, I’d have skipped the whole day just to help you clean up the fragging room!

I went to Brainstorm because I was worried. If he went to Magnus, it would effect your chances of being put on the duty roster. If I didn’t beg him and you didn’t visit either and because if it you missed your opportunity to start making amends you’d be right back where you started, and how would that make you _feel_?” Max was stubbornly quiet. Ambulon’s plating felt like it didn’t fit him correctly. No matter how he shifted it. “Frag’s sake, Max _I’m sorry_ but you have to appreciate there was a lot at stake and I...I was trying to protect your interests.” _Protect you._

After that tirade, the cause fuelling the storm in Max’s magnetic field was spent and his anger lulled into a passive defeat. Ambulon was was utterly exhausted. As much as he wanted to rest against the strong, thrumming chassis in front of him he withheld the gesture. 

“I...I don’t know what to say.”

A breathless laugh jostled Ambulon’s vents. 

“Just...Just say that you trust I’d never take advantage.” It didn’t matter what the rest of the crew thought, as long as Max knew his intentions were good and let them remain unchallenged, “I don’t need anything else.”

It was that word. Trust. It had caused Max so much upset that the mention of it hurt his processor. It shook him, frightened him, but the small mech in front him was quaking with emotion, depending on his acceptance. 

If today was about making a stand against his fears Max realised it didn’t need to be a grand gesture. It needn’t be about any fixed habitation suite, or befriending with moody neighbours. It could start here, quietly, no attention, just him and Ambulon. 

“I do...and I trust you.” 

Ambulon’s expression faltered, flutters of warm disturbed his melancholy EM field. 

It was a good start.   


	10. Chapter 10

They’d been made to wait for ages. Ultra Magnus had invited them in and then left them unattended because of an outlandish problem involving the misuse of detergent. A serious crime apparently, one that the Duly Appoint Enforcer could not forgo investigating this instant. 

Against his better judgment he’d left Fortress Maximus, accompanied by his attending physician, Ambulon, alone in his office with nothing to occupy themselves. 

Well...not strictly nothing. 

“Max. Don’t.” It was a stern command but not much of a deterrent. Fortress Maximus was mischievously quiet as his large palms trespassed Ambulon’s thigh. 

Over the days, as their interfacing games gradually got more adventurous, Ambulon had spotted a change in Max. He blamed it on the exciting prospect of being put to work. The large mech was being deliberately frisky and eager to stake his claim on the smaller autobot. Ambulon was all for the obsessing, Max had a habit of waiting for him to finish his shifts in the med bay then pouncing on him in the corridors - Ambulon loved that, but he was starting to become needlessly careless. For the moment, it was to their benefit that they keep their relationship unofficial and quiet or else this whole fiasco with the letter of recommendation might go to waste.  

“He’s been gone ages.”

“Which means he could come back any minute, stop it!”

The hand wrapped round his thigh squeezed over the capped interface ducts. Ambulon shuddered. It had taken him two weeks to arrange this appointment with the Oh So Busy Duly Appoint Enforcer of the Tryst Accord on Max’s behalf... 

“If Ultra Magnus walks in and sees us interfacing on his desk I think, I’m not sure, but I _think_ it might effect your chances of getting a job just a tiny bit.”

“Imagine it though.” 

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I find it difficult to fantasise about something that only exists in myth and legend.”

“Myth and le- are you talking about my spike?!” 

Ambulon was incredibly calm and incredibly composed, Max knew he already had the answer to his own question. Max rolled his whole head.

“You want to do this now?” 

Ambulon folded his legs and arms neatly, pressing the hand between his thighs, enjoying the sensation of wriggling fingers so close to his groin. 

The revelation of Fort Max’s more than slightly embarrassing issues with performance had been dragged out of him two nights ago when Ambulon made another grab for shy interfacing equipment and had his arms nearly wrenched out of their sockets. 

At which point Ambulon had put a stop to their fervent shenanigans and demanded an explanation Fort Max couldn’t escape from. 

It had been awkward, long and drawn out. Fort Max insides felt like they were trying to twist out of his oral cavity even though Ambulon was nothing but professional. As a medic he’d seen it all before. There was no rattling him over matters of medical ails no matter how disturbing they may seem to the patient. 

But when he’d asked to see the source of their woe Fort Max had leapt off the berth and skittered across the room. Hands cupped over his equipment protectively. 

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” 

“That easy for you to say, yours works fine!”

Ambulon gloated and grinned.

“You’d know.” And he squashed the Max’s hand, slowly rolling his tingly interface against it. 

“Smug bastard.” 

Behind them, the door suddenly wooshed open. Panicked, Fort Max retrieved his hand, ripping it from between Ambulon’s legs and nearly sent the smaller bot flying across the room. 

“Autobots.” Ultra Magnus greeted as he strode into the office. Fort Max’s panted a greeting, optics round with fright. Ambulon struggled to readjust himself onto the seat. 

Ultra Magnus suspected something, the frown he distributed them both was full of questions but he gave no indication of knowing what he could have walked in on.  

“Sir.” Max said respectfully and stood. Ambulon guessed he should do the same. Both Autobots remained on their feet looking painfully out of place against the ordered room. When Ultra Magnus took his seat behind his desk he gestured for them to do the same. 

They sank down in synchronized grace. Ambulon hazarded a glance at Max and saw his fists were curled with apprehension. A soft pang of sympathy emanated, he wasn’t sure if Max received it in the empathic exchange of their energy fields but he hoped the larger mech would calm down.

Ambulon knew how much Fortress Maximus deserved a position in the ship’s ranks. It was nasty of them to deny him the opportunity. 

“I understand you’ve put in a request to join the duty roster, Fortress Maximus, do you mind if I ask why?”

In his seat of power Ultra Magnus looked very intimidating. Ambulon wasn’t even the focus of attention and he felt like he was wilting.

“Sir, it’s because I feel I’m ready to make a concerted effort to rejoin the crew and make myself useful against to the Autobot cause.”

Mentioning the Autobot cause was good, Ambulon suggested it earlier, doing so humored Ultra Magnus’s love of patriotism.  

Things were going well, Ambulon thought. Ultra Magnus was a difficult mech to please after all, his line of question was bordering on a brutal interrogation, like he was purposely laying on the pressure to test Max’s character.

In tern Max responded quickly and firmly. 

When Ambulon started to grin he discretely cast his sights downward. He was proud of Max, listening to him speak with such confidence was stirring. 

“I understand First Aid is normally your attending physician.” 

Uh Oh. 

Ambulon stared at Max, Max stared back. Blank.

“Uh, yes, but given the nature of the request, First Aid asked for an outside opinion. He’s also working a shift today which is why he asked me to accompany Max, uh Fortress Maximus.” Ambulon sat up straight with his back pressed flat against the chair, his thumbs revolving in circles round each other in his lap.

“Hn,” Ultra Magnus was satisfied, he carried on viewing Fortress Maximus’s profile. Aside from his history aboard the Lost Light his working lineage was highly impressive, but Ultra Magnus already knew that, “Would you mind waiting outside for a moment please, Ambulon.”

They’d been expecting this, a private conversation. It was the final hurdle before the finish. The run down of job opportunities, the pay, the details and then the ground shaking your hired or fired. 

Ambulon nodded respectfully to both parties. His hand flinched, he wanted to reach out to Max and reassure him. Obviously he didn’t. It wasn’t worth blowing their cover as two professionals. Ambulon stepped outside and loitered impatiently in the corridor, quivers of anxious electricity conducting throughout his frame.    

He leaned on the wall opposite and read the words branded on the door, “Ultra Magnus: Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tryst Accord. Please wipe your boots before entering.” The latter part of the message they’d both done, twice. Anything for a good impression.

Part of him was considering fine tuning his audial functions and pressing his helm to the door. But before he could make any regrettable decisions, First Aid appeared round the corner mulling over information transcribed on a data pad. 

They spotted each other. 

The atmosphere turned heavy. 

First Aid paused. He’d have turned around if it wasn’t for the fact that doing so would be stupid and childish, something he was frequently accused of being.

“What are you doing here?”

Ambulon asked. Just being civil. Since their altercation in the med bay things between them had become strained. 

“Making a house call. What are you doing here?” His tone was equally curt but he was still curious. He approached Ambulon was caution.

“Waiting for Maximus.”

“What’s he done now, pulled the face off anyone with lips?” 

There was no sense in replying. Ambulon had nothing to say that wasn’t just as petty. So he kept his mouth shut and looked away from First Aid. The gesture of self-elevation riled the other medic.

First Aid made a point of stepping directly into Ambulon’s view.

“Don’t ignore me.”

“Well I can’t very well ignore you now, can I?” Said Ambulon and shoved First Aid out of his sacred personal space. 

“What’s he actually doing in there?” 

“I can’t say, it’s confidential.” 

“But I’m his medic.”

“Not today you’re not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

With that the door to Ultra Magnus’s office was pulled open and Maximus stepped into the corridor.

“Well?” Ambulon ducked round First Aid. It was a tantalising few seconds. Fort Max maintained an utterly placid expression while he closed the door behind him. 

He was torn between the two medics, while one beamed at him the other was sullen. The wild contrasts in his reception made the grin itching to spread across Maximus’s face struggle to materialise.

“I got a job.” He sounded as cheerful as could be expected; more demure and apprehensive that outright excitable. Being back in work, while it was a milestone he was grateful to have tucked under his belt, was still a very daunting prospect. 

“That’s great! Well done!” Ambulon strolled along side him and steered him away from First Aid. 

Fortress Maximus was never told what First Aid said to Ambulon to upset him so badly, he didn’t ask either because it was none of his business. Nevertheless, First Aid was still his attending medic, they needed to remain on functional terms so when Ambulon started tugging him in the opposite direction Fortress Maximus offered First Aid a tactful nod. 

First Aid was bit his glossa. When Fort Max slid his arm round Ambulon’s shoulders and drew him flush against his side First Aid swallowed the sour tang of bitterness. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I thought you’d be more pleased.” 

They’d turned a corner. Ambulon craned his neck back and watched the wince slowly transform Maximus’s expression into pain inflicted by guilt. 

“I am pleased.” 

“But...” 

Fort Max deactivated his optics for a second. A sad smile arranged his lips. 

“But: I used to be a prison warden. It was an important job... I was important,” He added quietly, “I guess I’ve just...fallen a long way.” 

“Why, what’s Magnus got you doing?” Ambulon stopped them both and looked concerned. Max studied the point at which the wall met the ceiling. 

“Taking stock in the cargo hold. Not even that, I’m an understudy...I just lift the heavy boxes while the crane’s out of commission.” He was retreating into himself, a dower gloom cast a shadow over his face, “Magnus didn’t think I’d be suitable for anything else.”

A small hand took hold of his, Ambulon was pushing warmth and support into the friction of their two energy fields brushing against each other. 

“It’ll get better, Max.”

“If you say so.” 

Ambulon heaved a weary vent. Tackling Max’s melancholy was a trying endeavour. Ambulon’s solution was excessive comforting that always digressed into interface sessions led by Max, so he could feel in control again. 

“Listen, you go back to your hab suite and relax. I’m going to pick up a few things and then we can celebrate. It’ll make you feel good.” 

Maximus nodded along and awaited Ambulon’s return in his hab suite, making use of the advice. 

He lounged on his berth, teasing the outskirts of his interface tenderly. It provoked some action, a flicker of energy but nothing substantial, not that he was putting too much effort in. He idled his hands, let them roam across his interface without any thought or planning. Although he tried to picture Ambulon bouncing on his turgid spike his thoughts inevitably deteriorated into something less appealing. 

Stray memories, fragmented fantasies, the dark, dark clutches of moods he needed to shun. 

Then the buzzer rang. The door slid back and Ambulon stepped in, drinking in the sight of his berth mate stretched over the recharge slab, rocking his hips suggestively into his hands.

“What have you got there?” Max voice was husky and enticing. He prodded two fingers deeply into a transformation seam, agitated the wiring and hissed. 

“Something to help you relax...although you seem to be doing a fine job of it by yourself.” He held the bottle of refined engex up for viewing. Max approved,

“Doctor said I shouldn’t have high grade, it’ll upset my medication.”

“Hm.” Ambulon disagreed, “Well tonight I am your doctor, and I say you can do whatever you damn want.” With the bottle still clasped in one hand, Ambulon precariously clambered onto the berth. He stood over Max then slowly squatted, their interfaces clunked together a couple of times until Max’s hands journeyed to Ambulon’s hips and pulled them together sharply, forcing a rhythm. 

“You make an example of every good porno I’ve ever seen.” 

Ambulon winked, uncorked the high grade and took a generous swig. He pulled the bottle away from his mouth and gasped, a bead of pinkish fluid pooled at the corner of his lips.

Fortress Maximus lifted himself off the berth, catching Ambulon round the waist before the smaller mech could tumble back and spill everything. Max’s glossa lapped away the excess high grade. Ambulon’s lips were parted and Max couldn’t resist venturing further into Ambulon’s mouth, following the sweetness of the drink. 

Ambulon made a pleased sound, his hand nudged the rim of the bottle nearer Max’s mouth. 

Max took the incentive and suckled on the drink as it was poured into him. He choked down a few mouthful then recoiled with a gasp.

“Primus, that’s stronger than I remember!”

“Good or bad?”

“Good!” He took control of the bottle, guzzled it down without inhibition. Ambulon licked along the tubing in his neck, he felt Max’s throat working hard to consume and it stirred something feral and greedy in him. He bit down and sucked hard, determined to leave a mark. The engine in Max’s chest revved under Ambulon’s hands. 

“What’s that?” Max prized the bottle off his lips and smudged the dribble away. He’d spotted the unmarked rectangular box safeguarded in Ambulon’s hand. 

“Hm?”

“The box in your hand?”

“Oh, you’ll see.” 

Ambulon’s fingers wormed under plating, discovered cracks in Fort Max’s armour and worked hard to make the larger mech shudder as he teased out an electrical response. 

Maximus was still enjoying the high grade. Guzzling it down burned his throat but it was worth it. The heady sensation, the warmth swirling in his stomach and the desperate mech grinding in his lap; it all shaped up to something very crude and so delicious Max couldn’t stand to control himself as his free hand explored Ambulon’s groin.

The cover of Ambulon’s interface peeled back readily. He pressed his valve against Max’s fingers: a clear invitation.

Hot ex-vents blasted out of Ambulon’s cooling system and covered Max’s cooler frame in sleek condensation. The tip of one thick blue finger wiggled inside then slid deep, wriggling about until Max was able to poke in another finger. Ambulon’s warm internals clutched them, tried to drag him in further. 

He curled his fingers mercilessly. Ambulon jerked and keened, knocking Max’s elbow which accidentally poured the high grade into him faster until he spluttered and spat some of it down his front. 

“Slag.” He grumbled. 

“Messy.” 

“You’re the one who’s getting messy.” He split his fingers apart in the tense valve. Ambulon’s optics flared and he convulsed against the torturous hand, lubricant trickled out and was smeared round the tender folds. 

Ambulon lapped up the expelled high grade, licking it off the smooth contours of Max’s armour.

“Lie down.” He commanded, guiding Max’s with one hand, still steadily rocking his valve against Max’s fingers and his spike cover spiraled open.

The energon Max spilled trickled down his body. Most pooled in his navel and Ambulon slurped it off, his glossa following the path of the indentation. Maximus squirmed.

“Ticklish?” Ambulon mocked, directing ghostly streams of air over Max’s middle. 

“Gerroff!” Max cried and pumped his fingers sharply between Ambulon’s legs, making way for a third digit to squeeze in. 

Ambulon arched off Max’s body, mouth hanging open and panting hard as he revolved his hips around the intrusion, trying to rub away the dull sting. 

Maximus smirked. Two of his fingers equaled Ambulon’s girth. They’d measured it once. Spreading the smaller mech’s valve was delightfully obscene, the wider it got the more Ambulon puffed and abandoned his sanity for the sake of a body shaking overload. 

But such a temptation wasn’t in play tonight it seemed. Ambulon had other plans. 

He sat back on the three fingers squirming inside his valve, moaning and huffing as he dragged his hands down Maximus’s body, stopping just above Max’s interface panel. 

Then he paused. Stiffened his undulating hips and stared at Fort Max with hazy lust and determination.  

“No.” 

Max said it before Ambulon could spout the proposition.

“You haven’t overloaded once since we’ve been together, that’s not healthy.”

“Not this again.” Max threw his weight against the berth and huffed.

It wasn’t intended but the action put tremors through Ambulon who was still joined to his hand. With great self control, Ambulon wedged himself off Max’s sticky fingers and smothered a groan. His insides felt hollow now, like he’d sacrificed something integral. His valve was stretched and sloppy.

“Max. I just want you to feel good,” Max dimmed his optics, “You’ve earned it.”

“I feel good by making you feel good.” The response sounded rehearsed and was spoken in a shameful hush. Ambulon sat over Maximus’s interface hatch.

“Since Delphi have you managed a full body interface with a partner?” The clinical bluntness Ambulon subjected him to made Max feel he was speaking with Rung instead of his frisky berth partner.

  “You know the answer to that. I can’t. It’ll be dangerous.” 

Embarrassment and dejection squirmed against each other and shaped Fortress Maximus’s EM fields. Ambulon felt guilty for causing it, but not enough to give in.

“They’re fixable problems.”

“No they’re not!” Maximus propped himself up on his elbows, lips pulled back over teeth gritted together like he was about to snarl.

“Manageable then, let me show you.” 

Ambulon stretched behind him and traced both hands delicately up Max’s trembling thighs until his fingers sunk into the interface ports and pressed down hard. Max hissed and wriggled. An electrical charge crackling round Ambulon’s finger tips, 

“I know we’ll never use these but, for everything else...I have a solution.” He ground his valve over on the grainy texture of Max’s armour. It was a rough and insensitive surface, his valve wept. 

Ambulon reached over Maximus and retrieved the box he’d brought with him. He opened it and emptied the contents over Maximus’s torso. A length of crinkly plastic polymer and a tube of...something spilled out. 

“There is nothing wrong with being selfish Max and if there’s anyone who deserves to be selfish it’s you. This is just for you and me, I snuck them out of the medical wing.”

“What are they?” Max studied the length of plastic, picked it up and watched it uncurl. 

“Protection. To stop the transfer of malware through interfacing. That’ll go over my spike and this,” Ambulon started unscrewing the cap off the tube, “Will help stimulate lubrication...I know the secretary nodes in your valve have been affected.”

“You read my file.”

“Just a quick peep.” 

“What happened to confidential?” He didn’t sound amused, or angry, just bland.

“It was just a refresher, I help reconstruct you remember? You should have seen some of Pharma’s earlier blue prints for your spike...part of me regrets talking him out of installing the vibrate function.” 

That got Max’s attention, his optics dilated like dinner plates. Ambulon smirked as he spread a generous amount of the milky wax like substance over his fingers. 

“Bend your knees” Ambulon slid off Max’s pelvis and crouched between his thighs. 

Fortress Maximus’s drew his legs up slowly, shaky breaths rattled his vents and his energy fields flooded with uncertainty. Hydraulics in his knees hissed. 

“This is not a good idea.” He informed warily, hands clasping his thighs, just below the knee as he tentatively parted them. 

Ambulon brushed his lips over the unusable circular ports and inhaled deeply.

“You’d better keep drinking then, until it does seem like a good idea.” 

Maximus swallowed thickly. 

“Listen, if you really do want me to stop, say so and I will. I promise.” Ambulon pushed his lips against the interface ports again. Heat and anxiety radiated back at him but Maximus’s response was clear as his interface panel snapped apart. 

Ahead of him Ambulon watched Max frantically gulp down the last of their high grade. His quaking thighs knocked Ambulon’s shoulder plates. The medic stooped low, aligned his face with Maximus’s dry and buried components all the while keeping his optics trained on Max’s face, gauging his expressions. 

When Max felt the glossa lap over the cap hidden his spike he moaned. He tossed aside the depleted high grade. The grip of his thighs tightened and his leg twitched.  

“If you’ve not used your equipment before this might feel strange. It could sting.” Ambulon sucked on his spike cover, the heels of his palms kneaded the taunt band of armour just above Maximus’s groin. 

“I can handle it.” Max pressed his lips into a grim line, for the first time in a long time he felt a warmth growing behind his wayward components. It was terrifying and exhilarating. His stomach churned with queasy anticipation, but that might have been the high grade settling in. 

The smallest of surges stirred his spike. He gulped at the sensation, Ambulon steadily dragged his mouth downward, creeping toward the tense split of his valve and Max’s fans revved into a strong thrum of sound. 

“Max?” Ambulon was still gazing at him even when he poked out his sly glossa and flicked it over the first lip of the valve.

“I’m fine.” But his voice was shaking as he said so. 

The push of Ambulon’s glossa firmed and pressed between the thick lips, surprisingly textured and beefy. Ambulon dragged one into his mouth and rolled and supped on it. 

Oral lubricant slicked the entrance, hidden underneath the folds of steely grey was something pinkish and raspy. A waspish, effacing valve, a strong resemblance to its owner. Both in need of some sensual thawing, Ambulon thought. 

Ambulon was curled in front of Max’s valve and with some careful maneuvering he arranged his hands ahead of the narrow aperture and kept his sticky fingers splayed to avoid contact where there shouldn’t be. 

“I’m going to start applying the lotion.”

“ _Primus_ Ambulon this isn’t fragging surgery. If your gunna talk to me then fragging do it right!”

“What do you, - oh, _Oh!”_ Ambulon introduced Max’s valve to one slick finger tip. It wormed inside, no where near large enough to satisfy but the drag of metal over raw, struggling nodes provoked Max to hiss. The lotion was transferred in uneven blobs, collecting round sensors and spread thin on everything in between. 

It was chilling and weird. Strange enough to make his peds curl. 

“Want more?” Ambulon lashed his tongue over the ports in Max’s thigh. The larger bot nodded, his lips curling under denta. The mesh inside the valve gave Ambulon’s finger a little squeeze then bowed outward, allowing space for more. 

Two, three, then two on each hand. Max panted, the lotion was becoming a copious factor, settling heavy in some parts of his valve and maddeningly absent in others.

“Ah - Ambulon, it’s,” 

“Feel that? It’s getting warmer isn’t it?” 

Maximus groaned. It was, the gel was conducting a current and his insides felt like they were alight like the fuses of fireworks, Catherine wheels of electricity spreading tingles of heat all the way up to his spike. 

“Getting nice and slippery in there now,” Ambulon spread the walls apart. The valve squelched, lotion mixed with a little lubricant oozed round the roots of his buried fingers. Some ran out, one single white line dribbling over Max’s aft. “What do you want, Max, tell me?” Ambulon shifted his fingers rhythmically. The gentleness wasn’t enough. Max bucked his hips, desperate for friction to rub away the itchy warmth. 

One leg twitched and bumped Ambulon’s aft.

“I want more! P- _Please._ It’s so hot.”

Ambulon pumped his digits with purpose, flexing against the irritated mesh. All the while Max thrashed and moaned with need and tried to tighten his valve round the invading fingers, his strong calipers squashing all four fingers together in a bunch. 

Then Ambulon’s attention was drawn to a sudden appearance. The cap over Max’s spike retracted, the bulbous head of his member squeezed over the threshold. 

Ambulon glanced at Maximus who was showing no indication of noticing his spike was now half exposed and still growing. 

Grinning, Ambulon swooped forward and suckled on the plump tip, the flat of his glossa sliding across the slit. 

Maximus gasped, the sharp intake stinging his intakes. Suddenly bolt up right he stared down at Ambulon, nuzzling his thickening spike against his cheek.

“Don’t!” His hips were still actively moving against the fingers in his valve but he was in a panic, “Don’t you’ll catch something!” 

“I won’t Max.”

“You don’t know that!” His chest was heaving. His spark thrumming, but even half obliterated by high grade he still couldn’t ignore his fears. 

Ambulon clambered up the tall body in front him, keeping his fingers deep in the tormented valve for as long as he could until the distance dragged him out. 

He kissed Max. It was a long, open and deep. Underneath him he felt Max shake, the whine of agitation expelled through troubled vents. 

“Max. It’s fine, Max.” He gripped Fort Max’s shoulders, leaving behind sticky prints of lubricant and lotion, “Enjoy yourself.” 

Ambulon left kisses with lasting sensations long Max’s audio, then his jaw, all the while slowly retreating down the larger body, purposely letting innocuous parts of his plating brush against the throbbing length jutting from Maximus’s groin. Hearing the hisses and soft keens coming from Max was extremely gratifying. 

Two hands wrapped round Max’s girth and started to pump. 

“I’m so glad it’s not a myth.”

“Don’t say that you’ll scare him off!” 

Ambulon cackled dryly.

“Him?” 

Max was too preoccupied to retort. The tingling in his valve was addling him. He was close to rutting against the berth if it meant delivering some friction to sate himself. 

“Do you want me to spike you, Max?” 

Although he was more keen to give the pounding rather than receive one, Max’s processor was overwhelmed by the prospect of satisfying his internals. His answer was instinctual, no time to over think, his body wanted it. Wanted Ambulon.  

“Yes.” 

“Good.” 

When Ambulon’s hands disappeared from his spike Max whined. The charge in his EM Fields called out in need. As it washed over Ambulon he smirked. 

“It’s going to sound like you’re being fragged by a packet of energon goodies but it’ll be worth it.” Ambulon said as he rolled the protective layer over his spike which in the mean time had hardened deliciously. 

Fortress Maximus reclined and sunk into the feeling of delirium. His processor was swimming in high grade, he wished he had more, it made him feel opulent. 

While he waited for Ambulon he took hold of his spike. It was nice to feel in his hand, but it felt better under his hand, when he started to jerk off. 

Ambulon said something, he didn’t register what, he could see his partner’s spike wrapped in the ridiculous looking plastic bag. Ambulon was priming it in more of the lotion. The though of how obscene the combination of things would look being squashed into his valve roiled the arousal in Max’s gut, 

“Hurry.” He groaned, squeezing his spike at its base. By now it had swelled respectably large. The throb was exquisite as was seeing the dollop of prefluid bud over the tip, “Uh, frag.” His face twisted into a pleasurable grimace as the pinch in his valve bloomed with warmth and sensation. The lotion was being spread around some more. Different nodes stimulated, sucking more lubricant out of him. 

“How’s that feel?”

“What? Is it in?” Max was hot and needy, please say that wasn’t all Ambulon had for him. 

Sadly they were joined at the hips, Ambulon’s spike and all the precautions he’d adorned it with was speared inside him.

“WHAT? _What_ do you slagging mean?! I’m a smaller person! It’s not my fault I wasn’t built to stuff a cave! Would you have me stick my fingers in there as well?”      

The comment snapped Max to attention. His optics were darkened by a haze of lust. Condensation dribbled off his brow. Worn ragged with desperation, his hips gave the smallest twitch. 

“Okay.” Ambulon whispered but thrust his spike in a few times anyway. It wasn’t exactly...adequate. Nearly frictionless he slid in and out, huffing as his charge pushed higher but never quite peaked.

“Ambulon!” Max moaned, throwing his helm against the berth. 

“Alright!” The impatience prompted him to be quite rough when he stuck the first finger in along side his eager spike. The press of his rigid joints being restrained on his spike made Ambulon wince while Max was delighted by the sensations inflicted on his previously unspoiled interface components. 

“More.” He demanded in a perverse howl. Valve calipers flexed. Two more fingers slotted in and soon, along with the combined thrusts and intense vibrations each time their hips connected Max’s charge was reaching irrepressible levels. 

It burned his circuits, much like the high grade simmered his tanks, and whited out his optics. 

Release was tantalisingly close but he couldn’t let go. 

Huffing until the ventilation over his spark stalled,  Max gaped and arched up. He was trapped in the utmost pleasure and it crippled him.

“Ambulon!” He cried out, stretching one clammy hand toward his partner. Ambulon freed one hand from its business, a trail of lubricant extended. The valve was loose enough to begin thrusting in ernest. 

He clasped Max’s hand tightly. Fingers frantically interlocking and squeezing.

Around Ambulon’s spike the valve spasmed and Max roared. The fist he stroked his spike with stilled as transfluid burst from the bulging tip and splattered all over Maximus’s chest. 

He slammed his hips into Ambulon’s once more before crashing against the berth.         

Completely spent and exhausted.  

“Uhhg.” He hadn’t been aware that he’d dropped offline. Max was stirred by something gentle dragging across his thighs. His optics flickered into function and he saw Ambulon was still tucked near the bottom of the berth, between his legs, tentatively applying salve and buffing away the sticky secretion painted round his valve and aft. 

“Hey.” 

When Max tried to sit up his circuits ached. His processor was still buzzing with the high of abandon. He winced and reached to cradle his processor only to discover his hands were smeared with transfluid. 

“Frag.” 

Ambulon was grinning to himself.

“Sore?” 

“A bit.” A heavy whirl of heated air cycled from his over taxed body, “I don’t remember it being so intense.” 

“First overload’s always the best.” 

“Hnn.” Maximus collapsed on the berth and started to shiver. 

Ambulon remembered how much Max appreciated an undamaged paintjob. He was being exceedingly careful as his moped away the pearly pink smears, when he heard the first strangled sound emit from Max’s vocalizer he initially thought he was being too rough.      On inspection he felt a rush of oblivion harrowing Max’s energy fields. He brought his hand to rest of Maximus’s thigh. The contact made the large mech flinch. 

“Max?”

“I’m fine.”

Carefully and very, very slowly, Ambulon crept up the berth.

“What’s the matter, are you hurt?”

Fortress Maximus shook his head though he looked pained. 

“It’s just that I’m n-not...not used to it... I just...it didn’t hurt at all.” He croaked. 

It was complicated. He didn’t want to recount the conditions of his last interface but he’d always remember it. 

To Ambulon the other mech suddenly looked very frail and vulnerable. He reached over and pressed his lips against his black helm and inhaled deeply. He found Max’s hand and gripped it tightly. 

Small tremors were swapped between contact. Ambulon extended his energy field and aimed to engulf Max in a lull of care so that he might feel unburdened. 

The speed of his ventilations regulated. A deep, tired thrum radiated from his chassis.  

“Stay.” When Ambulon motioned to leave him Max gripped the hand still resting in his grasp, “Please?”

Ambulon frowned. 

“Are you sure?” 

Maximus deliberated it for a while then nodded. 

“But, um, could I maybe sleep on outside of the berth...please?”

Ambulon’s laugh bit against the tired feeling in the room.

“Sure.” 

He clambered over Max’s body as Max shifted underneath him. It was an awkward tangle of limbs. Knees and elbows dug into places and more than few hisses were elicited from the couple until Ambulon dropped down in his new spot sandwiched against the wall and heaved a sigh of relief. 

“Better?”

“Yeah.”


	11. Chapter 11

There is a difference between being wanted and being needed. Ambulon never realised that before. Now he did. 

To want someone isn’t a permanent condition. He’d been wanted often, enjoyed often, but the feelings passed. Time also passes. Eventually, after struggling to perceiver for so long it becomes very difficult to determine what keeps two people with nothing in common together. It’s the the glue of a messy history. That’s all.

In the middle of the night, the warmth beside Ambulon pulled away suddenly. The bendy metal of the berth popped back into shape and Ambulon bounce in his place.

“Max?” He vocaliser sounded very groggy. Unlike Fort Max, Ambulon wasn’t having the benefit of a recharge, he’d just powered down to conserve energy. 

Fortress Maximus had sat up hurriedly. One hand pressed over his mouth, cheeks bloating. He was fumbling to unplug himself from the recharge slab but the process was taking too long. 

Ignoring the last of the connectors still digging into his hip Max tumbled off the berth. He didn’t get very far before he was forced onto his knees and Ambulon heard the guttural, wet sound of tanks being purged. A fountain of pink spurted between his fingers. The rest dribbled down his chin.  

“Frag.” Ambulon heard Max grunt. 

Then there was another gurgle and a splat. Ambulon recoiled, lips creasing. 

The pink puddle, trimmed in froth, spread in front of Maximus and a noxious odor fouled the clammy air of their room. 

Ambulon slid off the berth and was careful to avoid the growing spillage Max was spitting into. He slowly started massaging circles into Max’s back. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” Max groaned then belched, his whole body giving a sickening lurch forward, “Too much high grade.” 

Ambulon relaxed. Max had told him he sometimes suffered from disturbed recharge cycles, he was relieved to find this wasn’t one of them. It was something he could manage better than a fitful episode. Purging, as much as he hated it, was a part of his job and he could deal with it. 

“Idiot.” Ambulon chortled against Max’s helm, the movement was dizzying but Max wasn’t able to resist leaning into the contact. 

“Shut up.” 

His tanks gave another uncomfortable spasm, trying to rub away the ache didn’t help. His throat tubing burned and the taste in his mouth was vile but, to top it off, he still felt weak from the overload. He might have fried a few relays. Was it all worth it? Yes, he thought so. 

Standing up hurt, even with Ambulon’s assistance. For his size Ambulon was astonishingly strong. Built to be sturdy, he was great support.   

Fortress Maximus’s processor swum, he had to stretch one arm across Ambulon’s shoulders. The berth suddenly seemed far away, and warped in shape. 

“Primus.” His intakes were long and shaky.

“You done?”

Maximus thought about it for a moment. One hand braced against his tanks as he mulled over the swashing he felt inside. 

“Yeah. Think so.” 

Ambulon helped him back onto the berth and Max covered his optics with his forearm. 

Ambulon huffed.

“I suppose you expect me to clean this up?” No matter the answer Ambulon knew he’d have to or else Max would probably end up drowning in it. _Idiot:_ Ambulon thought vehemently but fondly. He was unsure of who he was insulting, Maximus for not knowing his limits, or himself for supplying Max the instrument to surpass those limits and encouraging it. 

As he stepped away from the berth Maximus caught Ambulon’s hand. He rubbed his rough thumb over Ambulon’s knuckles. 

Ambulon’s spark fluttered. When he stared at Max he saw the mech was smiling. 

That was the difference between wanting and needing. To need someone was to appreciate them. In spite of and because of their imperfections. 

For the first time Ambulon experienced a wholesome, unfettered version of that concept. He was stung by a litany of poignant feelings and Max must have sensed it flickering in his EM fields. He uncovered his optics, stared directly at Ambulon and gently whispered,

“Thank you.” 

“You owe me.” Ambulon’s tone was dipped in mock animus. 

“No, I mean...for everything.” 

And Max held on a little tighter to the hand of his recovery. 

 

 

 

Sometimes Max didn’t know if Rung was more concerned with being his friend than his therapist, it was difficult to tell when the little mech liked to chit chat. Maximus tried to indulge him but the throb in his processor made concentrating difficult. Every so often his tanks gave a hiccup that was tricky to hide. Thankfully, it was nearing the end of their session. 

Max breathed heavily into his hands. The fear of purging again stuck with him and his systems were running hot in a concerted effort to rid himself toxins. Apparently, overloads weren’t the only things his mended frame struggled with remembering, fuel moderation was something he need to add to the list. 

“Maximus, are you feeling alright?” 

Fort Max peeped at Rung through his fingers. He didn’t recall when he started cradling his helm.

“Yeah.” To Rung’s honest surprise Max returned the question with a smile. It was impossible to explain but somehow he’d been humbled and even if his processor felt as if it was bleeding out of his audios he couldn’t be annoyed. 

The smile made Rung curious. He leaned into the conversation.

“Are you sure?” His skepticism almost provoked Max into laughing...almost. Surely it was Rung’s purpose to return him to stability. Wasn’t a smile evidence that slow but steady progress was being made? Having to explain himself was a nuisance, a mood killer and a horrible tax on his aching processor. 

“Yes.” Rung’s eyebrows pinched together, egging more out of him. Maximus wasn’t sure what he could say without giving too much away, personal matters and the revival of his working status collided. When Rung learned he’d qualified for a job against his recommendation Max was certain the psychotherapist wouldn’t be impressed, “I’ve been sleeping better.” It was a nice, innocuous answer.

“Ah, the medication’s been helping then?” 

Gauging the medicine’s effectiveness in comparison to an exhaustingly energetic night, it wasn’t clear which was the predominant factor responsible for a successful recharge. But Maximus wanted to satisfy Rung so...

“I believe it is.”

“Well that’s good news! Are you sleeping through the entire cycle?” Rung held on patiently for an answer but soon realised Max’s attention had diverged elsewhere, “Maximus?”

“Huh?” The sound made between a large gulp of air down his primary intake to steady his tanks. 

“Are...are you over charged, Maximus?” The jaundice of the accusation should have been foundation for Maximus to get annoyed. It wasn’t, and the stupid, incessant grin spread over his face was a dead give away. 

“You know you’re not meant to mix drink with your medication. Swerve’s been informed of that, where did you get the high grade.”

“It was a gift.”

“You asked someone to purchase it for you?”

“No, a _gift,_ as in someone, out of the goodness of their spark, gave it to me...honest.”

“Max...do you remember what we talked about: How high grade can interfere with the functions of the tablets?” Rung was being worryingly serious. He’d put down his notes.

“Didn’t you say you were planning to take me off the meds?” 

“Yes, gradually.”

“I want to come off them now.”

“You will, soon. Until then, please stick to my recommendations. I’m sure First Aid will tell you the same.”

The smile was faltering but his terrible aching processor remained, now it felt more of a burden than a badge of honor.

“So who bought it for you?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, but who ever it is should be informed of the implications.” Rung hissed through his denta, it wasn’t like Rung to show impatience. Being ignored must have really riled him, “But do you find you are forming relationships more easily now.”

To answer that Fortress Maximus shrugged. Relationships, that was a funny word. He hadn’t considered it until now, maybe it was because he never expected what he had with Ambulon to last. But it had endured and for that maybe their liaison was deserving of a more permanent title. It was something to think over. With his new job he might have an opportunity to cultivate other friendships. But he’d only have the one relationship. Only desired the one. 

“Anyone in particular?” Maximus realised Rung was still trying to suss out the designation of the mystery procurer of high grade. Sneaky. That was enough for today, Max decided. While Rung was still clinging to the hope of a straight answer Maximus pointed at the chronometer sitting on the desk.

“Oh, it’s that time already is it.” Rung stood and dusted himself down. He was smiling but disappointed. Max spent enough time in Rung’s company to decipher the bleed of inner feelings in Rung’s expression as much as the therapist could analyse his. It was satisfying, “Alright Max you can go, I hope you take my words to spark and won’t be overcharged for our next session.”

Max was on his way out of the door but hesitated. 

“Actually, Rung.” He’d been dreading this. He would have forgotten to mention it if Rung hadn’t reminded him, their schedule was in need of a reshuffle, “I won’t be able to make our next session.”

Rung looked at him like there was no possible reason he could have to avoid therapy.

“Why not?”

“I’ve been allocated a task in the cargo bay.”

“You got a job.”

“Only a little one.” The simplicity of ordering stock, although it devalued him, actually helped his argument, “Just something simple, like you said, nothing strenuous.” 

“I believe I said no work at all.” Rung was frowning at him with stern disapproval. 

“Yes but...I was bored.” 

“Maximus, I”-

“Don’t screw this up for me. I really want it.” Saying so didn’t sound completely desperate. Rung detected a warning. He did not fear his patients, but Fortress Maximus had a tendency to snap if being denied. Like a youngster throwing a tantrum after being told he can’t have sweets.

“Okay Max.” Rung was strangely submissive, Max had been expecting to further the argument. He was glad that it had been so easy to make Rung see from his perspective, really glad...still, it was, well, odd. Rung didn’t allow things to slide often, so much so that Maximus almost anticipated his valiant work initiative to be blocked by the moody spoil sport, “When would you like to move your sessions to?” 

Maximus thought about it. His life normally revolved round the schedules of other busy people, now he had his own timetable to worry about. It was a forgotten pressure. 

“Umm. After the day shift, I suppose.” Yeah, _yes_ that was a good time. It was the only time. 

Rung allocated him a slot and Max left, overwhelmed by the success. He still had his job, Rung was being accepting which was as much as he could ask for, things were looking good. His confidence was pleasantly enforced. 

He stood in the corridor and thought of what he could do next.

It was too early to head to Swerve’s and start being obsessively observed. That kind of study was hard to tolerate on the best of days, he found their behavior more intrusive after a grilling from Rung. It would be better if he avoided the situation all together. Last night’s experiences might have slackened the overbearing itch in his circuits but the hangover lowered his tolerance for slack-jawed fools. 

He decided to visit Ambulon first. The medic had the day shift off and recently he found the well natured company preferable to wallowing alone. Even if he sat idly and watched while Ambulon crippled himself with study. 

Occasionally, Ambulon persuaded Max to help. They threw a ball back and forth and accompanied the actions with some quick fire questions to test Ambulon’s knowledge. 

It surprised Fort Max to discover his own understanding of medicine broadening. Unfortunately, a few of those quirky facts were some times knocked out of him when the ball collided with his helm and missed his hands. But that was okay, he had a very good medic on hand to buff away the marks. 

“Hey,” Ambulon greeted from behind the habitation suite door. There was a data pad in his hand, it catalogued some heavy duty journals citing all the practices conducted on patients suffering from spontaneous capacitor failures. 

“Are you busy?” It was a silly question, Ambulon was always busy with something. Fort Max saw him hesitate, the medic craned his body to the side revealing First Aid sat at the desk squinting at them angrily. 

“Want to go back to yours?” It wasn’t really a suggestion. They were going back to his. Fort Max practically felt the tension seeping out of the room. 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” 

Ambulon nodded, tossed his data pad onto the nearest berth and joined Fortress Maximus in the corridor. The door slid shut behind him. 

The tension hung around. Fortress Maximus followed behind Ambulon as they travelled toward his hab suite. Ambulon didn’t need directing anymore, he knew the way well. Max was very observant. Ambulon wasn’t at ease, everything about him was taught, armor was pinched tightly together.

When Maximus reached out and grasped a strained shoulder he felt the whole of Ambulon’s body shudder. They stopped walking. 

Ambulon slumped against Max’s support and Fort Max moved forward until Ambulon’s entire weight was leaned against his chest. 

“What’s the matter?” He asked, brushing large, encompassing hands down Ambulon’s arms. 

Ambulon shook his head. 

“It doesn’t matter. Just...stupid things.”

“He’s upset you.” 

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get to yours. I don’t want to think.” Ambulon wanted to forget. Not just about the mean things First Aid turfed up but about everything. His hand slid down Maximus’s arm, he caught the large mech’s hand and began dragging him along. He wanted contact. Wanted to prove First Aid wrong. The same wild accusations were being thrown around daily in varying degrees of ferocity and protraction. First Aid had obviously been harboring his scorn for a long while. Rarely they could stand to be in the same room as each other without snapping. It was so different than before. Things were approaching irreparable. Ambulon didn’t want to acknowledge that thought but it was growing into a frightening truth. 

Maximus allowed Ambulon to lead him along numbly. They were quiet until they turned into the corridor leading to Max’s hab suite. Ambulon quickly tossed away the hand he’d been holding. Ahead of them was Brainstorm loading the last of some storage containers onto a floating craft. 

He saw them both and nodded gloomily. 

“What’s going on?” Ambulon asked, steadily creeping forward. Brainstorm set the last box into place on top of the tetris arrangement of containers. He muttered something, neither Ambulon or Max could hear what, then Brainstorm peeled himself off the box and turned to them. 

“I requested a room transfer.” 

Fort Max and Ambulon swapped a knowing glance. 

“Oh.” Was their chosen syllable of response. To ask why would be an offense when they were both to blame for the cause. 

“Yeah. I put in a transfer and today Ultra Magnus finally cleared my forms for relocation. There were no other single rooms aboard the ship. He’s put me into shared accommodation.” There was obvious misery in this confession. It was like Brainstorm wasn’t blaming them for pushing him out of his hab suite, more like he was cursing himself for not tolerating the lesser of two evils. 

“Who’s he put you in with?” 

Before Brainstorm could respond to Max’s question they were interrupted.

“Hey Roomie!” Swerve galloped down the corridor, the widest of smiles spread over his face, “Is this the last of your stuff? Where’d you keep the rest of it, in the lab? Hey, are you going to bring any of your experiments home with you? That would be so cool!”

Brainstorm glared at both Fortress Maximus and Ambulon, almost like a silent plea for one of them to euthanize him before this ordeal could begin. 

Ambulon was respectfully sympathetic. Fort Max had to chew his lips to stifle a giggle. 

“See you in Hell.” Brainstorm muttered as he pushed his trolly of utensils past them. Swerve trotted at his side, blissfully nattering away and unaware of the frown branding itself over Brainstorm’s brow. 

Max and Ambulon watched them disappear. Swerve’s chatter could still be heard bouncing off the corridors like an incessant echo.           

Better make the most of this development!

Their entrance into Fort Max’s hab suite was hasty and enthusiastic, the moment the door whooshed shut and all the light was squeezed out of the room Ambulon found himself being pinned to the wall that had once been shared with Brainstorm. 

“Frag!” Ambulon nearly choked when Max speared his mouth with his glossa. There were already two hands on his aft, dragging him up the wall until he was floating. Ambulon crossed his legs round Fortress Maximus’s waist, the crush of their interfaces hatches pressed together against the wall was the only balance he had. 

Max’s tongue was broad and thick, there was nothing Ambulon could do to compete with it once it got inside his mouth. Helplessly, he lapped at the underside and moaned and suckled until Maximus withdrew and roughly lavished his lips in hungry nips and licks. 

“Gunna frag you, gunna see how much you can _take_!” It was very bold, a rush of exhilaration and anxiety competed within Ambulon’s thoughts. He _wanted,_ wanted badly, but there was something, an alarm he tried to ignore, but it held him back. 

“I don’t,” Ambulon keened and hissed as Max started chewing on the fuel lines bulging in his neck, “Idon’thaveanyoftheprotection!” He hurriedly spat out before Max could disrupt him entirely with his own pleasure. 

With his lips still squashed against Ambulon’s throat Maximus paused. Ambulon gulped, and hurriedly fought to reclaim his stolen breath. Maximus lapped his way up to Ambulon’s jaw.

“Looks like I’ll be doing all the work again.”

It was embarrassing, once Maximus got him worked up, how easily Ambulon was to manipulate. Like a doll, Maximus held Ambulon to the wall while sinking to his knees. Hydraulics hissed. Grunts and heavy breaths were exchanged. Soon Ambulon was arranged with both legs wrapped round Maximus’s helm. His interface tantilisingly close to Max’s hot, humid mouth, so eager to swallow him up and eat him out. 

Ambulon grasped at the audial stacks protruding from Max’s helm. He arched his back off the wall and pushed his interface against Max’s pursed lips. Small discharges of energy simmered on the surface of the interface ports in his thigh. Maximus tilted his helm, his wet glossa poking into all six of the small indentations, soaking up the charge. Electricity collected on his tongue. The moment Ambulon’s interface hatch rolled back Maximus introduced his glossa, amped up with current, to the moist centre of Ambulon’s valve. 

The charge crackled. Ambulon shrieked. He’d being stung. His valve tingled, a lasting burn agitated internal nodes. The taut outer rim spasmed. Maximus delved in, deepening the reach of the roiling waves until the back of Ambulon’s valve fluxed. 

Inner calipers squeezed round the tongue’s pliable shape and Ambulon lurched forward, curling round Max’s head and juddering as energy swirled through his valve.

“Oh slag.” Ambulon groaned as the glossa slid out of him. Maximus dragged his bottom lip up the inflamed shape of Ambulon’s valve then gathered as much as he could and slurped lewdly. 

“Frag, frag, _frag_!” Ambulon chanted. 

“You don’t have to be quiet anymore...got no neighbours to piss off...and I like listening to you.” It was more a case of knowing he was doing well. Silence didn’t favour Max’s tactics. He sucked vigorously on one of the prim exterior nodes trimming Ambulon’s valve, stretching the pliable nub away from the body of rubber. 

Ambulon’s spark roiled with excitement, he groaned and tugged Max’s face closer to his tortured interface, crushing Max’s nose into the smears of lubricant dragged upward from Amulon’s valve by the broad strokes of his glossa. Max inhaled the tang of lust and spit. A powerful rumble of desire stirred his engine and channelled the vibration straight into Ambulon. 

A long low keen escaped Ambulon. His fingers dug into Max’s helm as two broad thumbs wedged apart the entrance of his valve. One slipped in first, revolving slowly and spreading about the building coat of lubricant. Then it pulled out and was replaced by the other kneading digit which explored deeply and firmly before retracting almost all the way. Ambulon shuddered when both thumbs pushed into him. The fingers on his aft gripped him and the thumbs in him teased the calipers apart. 

Ambulon felt and heard his valve gurgle. More lubricant collected near the rim ready to ease the way. 

Maximus prodded his tongue between the thumbs, worming it between the hot, stretched folds until his face was flush against the array. 

Above the valve there was a sigh of oily gears shifting. Ambulon spike extended from inside him and inflated eagerly. The dampened tip butting and dragging across Maximus’s helm crest as it grew, leaving behind a wet trail. 

Ambulon huffed. His face felt hot, the coolant pumping throughout his system was divided between his interface and his overheating processor. He watched Maximus devoutly pamper his spike. Sucking kisses and long licks followed the curves of the throbbing length. The touches were feathery. 

Ambulon longed to clasp and roughen the attention his spike was given but his hands were glued to Maximus’s helm. If he let go he’d fall.    

“Please Max, _more!_ ” 

Maximus didn’t look at him as he grated the tip of the spike lightly between his teeth. The experimentation wasn’t pleasant, but Ambulon didn’t always require pleasure to get off. The charge agitating his energy fields buzzed.   

Next Ambulon watched his spike being swallowed. Max gulped round it, a tight seal formed round the base and his cheeks collapsed as he started sucking like a vacuum. 

That was more like it. Ambulon’s hands moved in pace with Max’s helm as his started bobbing up and down the spike, scraping his denta along the length put shivers through Ambulon, lapping it with his glossa made Ambulon whimper.

  Inside his valve Max bent his thumbs. Yawping, Ambulon thrust his spike forward, catching the sensitive intake aperture at the back of Max’s mouth. His valve pinched tightly round the thumbs. Maximus pulled off the spike grunting, silken lines of prefluid and saliva dangled like ropes between his swollen lips and Ambulon’s itching spike. 

“I, _ah!,_ think I’m going to need a bit more spreading before I can take your spike.” Ambulon’s thighs fell slackly apart, but remained locked round Max’s helm, his knees bumped Max’s shoulders. It was somewhat wobbly, but after some careful reshuffling Max impaled Ambulon on two long digits at once. 

He sunk down, insides squirming. Ambulon breathed heavily. Max’s fingers could reach deep inside him. They prodded far into the soaking wet trench, a fraction away from the rapturous node embedded in the pit of his valve.   

Then Maximus bounced him. Up and down like a toy. Ambulon was helpless. Panting loudly, he felt the fuel in his tanks slosh and the weight of his spike swinging, flicking fluid over Max. 

“ _Primus!”_

“Think you can take more?”

“Yes! Yes! Oh _Primus_ p-please!”

Maximus adjusted again. Ambulon slid down the wall, falling heavily on the fingers wedged inside him. His mouth was stolen and invaded by a hard pressing glossa. If felt like Max was trying to devour him when he opened his mouth wide and leached off Ambulon’s face.   

  The passion stitched to Ambulon’s moans he swallowed. 

              They tumbled onto the berth. Side by side. Ambulon’s back connected to Max’s thrumming torso. 

“Slag.” He grunted, the fingers were still lodged deep in him when Ambulon hit the berth. They were squashed uncomfortably by unsettled internal components. His thighs slapped each other and over Max’s arm nestled between them. 

The back of his helm was kissed, his shoulders bitten as the arm extending from his valve started to lift, spreading his legs, the transfluid dribbled from his valve made his thighs feel as if they were being peeled apart.  

His knee was bent and hooked over Maximus’s shoulder. This position was a twisted stretch. Ambulon’s groin burned. 

Three digits was always a struggle. When Ambulon felt it press against his fluttering calipers he hiccuped. His hips chased the incentive. Maximus eased it through the threshold. A wash of lubricant reward the twinge of sensation. His internals flexed and dragged. Warmth invited more. Maximus was bucking his covered interface against Ambulon’s  grinding aft. 

When he tried to exercise his three thick fingers inside Ambulon he was met by resistance. Ambulon writhed and bleated. Denta clenching. He squirmed round the twisting  digits, the secretion of lubricant making the lazy thrust of Max’s hand nearly frictionless but still so _tight_. 

Overload was a molten ball of plasma swirling in his gut, connected to his spark. 

A fourth finger nestled between the calipers, teasing. 

“Shove it in!” Ambulon demanded. The debauchery was too much. The image of his calipers spread obscenely, twitching helplessly as he was crammed full was too alluring to deny. The fourth finger he desperately wanted to add to the maddening stretch was poised just beyond his comprehension, smearing the escaping lubricant round the tender folds veiling inner calipers, “Stuff it in me and make it _hurt_!”  

All around him the air stiffened. Ambulon’s optics flared into life as the three fingers squashed inside him were abruptly ripped away. He gasped back his shock. The loss of sensation was hollowing and torturous. His charge had climbed so high he was at his peak  and looking down was a frightening fall without overload. 

“What?!” Max snapped, sitting up. Ambulon’s leg slid off his shoulder and bent in the crux of Maximus’s arm. His valve on display, messy and vulgar and still hungering for that fourth digit. 

“What?!” Ambulon panted back as he frantically started to revaluate his choice of words. 

Through the muggy vail of lust and darkness they gaped at each other. 

“ _Make it hurt_?!” 

Ah. Ambulon realised he might have gotten a little carried away. 

“Well, I just meant, uh.” 

“You want me to hurt you?”

“Not badly.” Ambulon shifted with embarrassment, his longing spike shivered.

“And prove every judgmental frag aboard this ship right?” Maximus made a strange, stammering, spitting noise and dropped Ambulon’s leg, “But that’s not the only point!” Maximus was ready to say something extra but he hesitated. Ambulon watched the larger mech withdraw, “You don’t...hmm, nevermind.” He shook his helm. One hand was clean, Max used that hand to rub at his optics. 

“I didn’t realise I was doing anything wrong.” Ambulon tried to sit. A spasm shot through his valve and he flinched. Holding perfectly still until it eased. 

“Interfacing: it’s meant to be... it should always be a privilege. You don’t understand how it feels to have that choice taken away. When it stops being... when it _really_ hurts and you can’t make them stop...” Maximus whispered it to himself, distracted by horrors. His hands curling over his thighs. Flaying his sentiments as if they were his guts was a crushing reiteration of his weakness. Maximus never wanted to speak about Garrus 9. Doing so cut his pride as deeply as the wounds of the chainsaw abraded his limbs. But he badly wanted someone to understand.  

Ambulon aft remembered the sting of Max’s strong hands slapping him until the metal turned tender. He was starting to learn that Max’s morality was highly dependent on his mood. It was conflict, an affliction, not knowing how to tame the beastly anger inside when it rose to the surface and fearing it constantly when it receded below waited to be tempted out again. 

Ambulon decided not to torture Max with his own hypocrisy, he just wanted him to relax. 

“Max?” Ambulon was leaning on his arm, his hand steering Max’s cheek onto his lips. Max shied away. Ambulon caught him and dragged him back. Lightly and tenderly suckling across his neck, “It’s fine, you wanted to see how much I could take remember?”

“Wasn’t going to hurt you for the sake of it!” 

Ambulon palmed his spike. Maximus felt it prod his hip insistently.

“I know. I’m sorry. Let’s just take it easy for now.” 

But there was no taking it easy, Ambulon always got worked up. 

Maximus was feeling mentally weighed down. It made him lethargic. 

“No more for tonight.” Maximus didn’t have it in him. Ambulon did. The denial made his interface components twitch with the fear of neglect. 

“Come on.”

Max was retreating into himself, too consumed by vulnerability he didn’t want to listen. When he shuffled on the berth Ambulon tried to hold him still. 

“Hey, don’t, Max, I’m sorry alright, Max?”

“Don’t!” Maximus jerked his arm away from Ambulon, snarling. “I said no! Why would you ever want anyone to hurt you?!” 

Ambulon deeply regretted the deterioration of his self control. The confession of his fantasies was a tribulation that made him cringe. 

“It’s just...” He sunk back into his haunches, “No, no, you’re right it was...insensitive.” 

“I’m not being sensitive about this, you should respect yourself more.” 

Ambulon balked. That was second time his self-respect had been called into question that evening. The raw wound was agitated again. 

“I do respect myself! And I am capable of deciding what I want for myself. I like it when,” Ambulon flushed a little, his allure for masochism was a complex subject to broach with partners (Except Pharma)  

Suddenly, Ambulon lost his wits. They were physically shunted out of him. Maximus dived at him, to powerful to deny. Ambulon collided with berth and sharply cried out when he denta gnashed his glossa. 

Maximus restrained him by bracing a solid forearm across his neck. 

Ambulon struggled. Energon spilled down his throat from the fresh split on his tongue. Maximus weight rested between his thighs, squashing his spike and his pedes scraped down the berth, seeking purchase but slipping. 

Wild fear flooded him. His hands racked down Maximus tank treads. He had no way of shifting that massive, imposing body crushing his shape. 

It was terrifying and unexpected, and Ambulon had never experienced more desire. His spike pulsed against the rough metal of Maximus hips while his valve pined to be filled. 

Maximus searched his expression. Ambulon was swathed in a lustful fog but equally, he was nervous. 

“Have you ever _really_ been hurt by your partners, huh?” Two fingers tapped above his spark casing, “Here?” The same two fingers journeyed down. They sunk into his valve, “Or in here?” _Squelch._

Ambulon arched upward. Max wasn’t hurting him. But he could. 

“Y-yes.” Ambulon gasped, mouth gaping and ventilations howled, he looked directly at Maximus, “You think you’re the only one to have a rough time of it?” He pushed down on the fingers wedged inside him, “I learned to make the best of a bad situation. I told you before, my job is everything and I did anything I could to stay employed. That’s quite a tricky thing to do... when your boss hates you.” 

“You let Pharma hurt you?” The forceful front retreated, revealing an expression of incredulity. Ambulon licked the flecks of energon off his lips. 

“I let him use me.” He hissed in Maximus’s audios, “Like I know you want to use me.    You’re frustrated. I can help you with that.” 

It was unclear who he was actually speaking for. 

A flicker of fear collided with uncertainty. Maximus withdrew from the body he’d subdued. 

“Lights: On.” 

When the room glowed white Maximus flinched, he didn’t like being confronted in the light where indecency was hard to disguise.  

Ambulon was wiping the energon off his lips. The interface equipment displayed had an appetite for mech kneeling in front of him. 

“I trust you. Maximus. You don’t have to hold back around me.” Ambulon slithered up to the retreating autobot, hands roaming over his shoulders and treads. It was a parody to his typically tamable companion, “If you want to give me more, I can take it and I’ll enjoy it. Because hurting me is different to damaging me. It’s a sensation I like to feel.” 

Maximus twitched with apprehension. The body coiling about his lap was full of promises he couldn’t deny. The corruption tainting him wanted very badly to start exploring the limits. 

Their mouths connected with soft, suckling kisses. A moan rolled out of Maximus in a heavy breath. 

“I won’t damage you.” Max promised. Ambulon nodded along, not caring. After everything he was still angry. First Aid was to blame. For Fort Max’s sake he tried not to let the trouble the nurse caused him interfere with his mood but Ambulon was failing. All he wanted was spite First Aid for the venom he spilled into Ambulon and that night, as heard Maximus grunted his name and revere his ravished valve, Ambulon felt that he’d succeed. 


	12. Chapter 12

It was that time again. 

Fortress Maximus never knew why he tried but he did. He was stood over the basin,  straining, yielding nothing but disappointment. 

“ _Nhhg_.”

Fortunately there was no one around. 

The first of the month, every month he was required to report to the medical wing where First Aid would flush his waste cistern manually with pumps and tubules. It was procedure he dreaded, not just because it was agonising, it was also highly personal and embarrassing. 

Flushing a waste cistern was meant to be a natural process. Quick and painless. 

Sadly, his accumulation of malware hadn’t been satisfied to stay tethered to his interface equiptment. No. It spread, and reached for his waste filtration components, corroding the non-adhesive coating of the cistern chamber and crystalising the physical waste product. 

A tube extended from the waste portal embedded just above his hip. It was thick and transparent, just incase some strange person wanted to watch their harvested energon leave their system. 

It was sad because, right now, Max would have very much liked to have seen something. He could feel the pressure of the liquid inside, aching to spurt out. When he walked, the weight of it sloshing around unbalanced him. 

“mmMm- _ah!”_

First Aid would do this for him, but this was the routine. Max always liked to try. If he resigned from the effort he felt less of a mech. And making small talk while having your bowels manually evacuated was always horrendously awkward. 

       Keen to avoid that scenario Maximus tried to force the process. The little waste port whined and flexed, when he jiggled the syphoning tube he spotted a crusty few granules of congealed energon splutter into the glassy cylinder . 

“Come on, come on.” He breathed. Small shooting pains rocketed up his abdomen. 

“You alright there buddy?” He hadn’t even heard Trailcutter swagger in. He was stood a basin on Max’s left, hooking himself up to the syphoning apparatus. 

_I am not your fragging ‘buddy’._  

“Yeah.” But the melancholy sigh shook his voice. 

In the presence of company the cuspid petals of the waste valve sealed shut and adamantly stayed closed. 

Fortress Maximus disconnected himself and stepped back from the basin. His legs quaked under his weight. His cistern pinged him for relief. 

Trailcutter was looking sympathetic, he was already shaking the last few droplets out of his syphon. Maximus was a tad envious. 

He marched out of the waste exchange and over to the medical bay. 

First Aid was waiting for him.   

The medical staff were very compliant and accommodating to him. Probably because they didn’t want to provoke him. After the incident with Rung no one did. 

Maximus had arranged for the sessions to be held after standard practice hours, when the medical bay was deserted except for the medic on call and the occasional casualty patient. 

First Aid had prepped a secluded room at the back of the sick bay. It was very private and clean. But Maximus still couldn’t feel at ease. It was the nature of this visit that disturbed him. First Aid was very discrete, he never asked questions but Maximus had heard of the nurse’s tendency to idly wonder from Ambulon. No doubt his processor was exploding with obnoxious ideas of what degenerate acts Maximus might have performed to contract such a sensitive ailment. 

“Lie down, please.” The nurse instructed in clinical humdrum. 

Maximus responded, exhaling nervously on the way down. The first of the month always came round too quickly. 

His cistern felt like a barrel lodged inside him, bulging with the volume of a small reservoir. The liquid rolled about and Maximus winced, patting his hand over the aching component. He could feel the swell of it under his armour, dying for release. 

First Aid was clattering nearby. Today, the nurse was unsettlingly quiet and Maximus started to fidget with apprehension. 

“How long’s this going to take?” He croaked. First Aid was approaching him with a needle full of a numbing agent that lamed pain receptacles. 

“Same as always.” 

Fortress Maximus nodded breathlessly, his helm scratching against the berth. The answer was always the same, although he never stopped him from asking, “Legs flat, please.” 

While Maximus was still in the process of reluctantly complying the needle jabbed into the thickest artery snaking between the armour plates shielding his groin and leg.  

Intakes stuttered.

First Aid’s thumb worked the plunger and Maximus watched the numbing-agent being pushed into him. It was quickly distributed inside. When it spread it was like a burn or far-reaching rash under his plating.  

By the time First Aid withdrew the syringe Max had no sensation. He flicked the area round the waste cistern to be certain while First Aid deposited the syringe in a nearby disposal and fetched a trolly piled with cables and a portable filtration machine; Max’s best friend. 

It was always cheery to see him, the moment First Aid took a swab from inside his fouled cistern and passed it along to the filtration machine it blinked a happy chorus of red lights and warnings. 

[ _Alert: Contamination Detected.]_  

The greeting never failed to make Maximus grimace. 

His waste port was prized open and twitching with the desire to close. If he concentrated, he spotted a few of the troublesome pink crystals crusting round the inner rim. What the inside of the cistern looked like he dreaded to imagine. 

First Aid talked him through the routine while wiping the congealed energon away from the port entrance. The speech was mandatory despite how regularly they performed this procedure together. Maximus nodded along. His fingers clutched the edges of his armour as he was approached by the invasive, cone shaped nozzle of the adapted syphoning tube.   

It wasn’t the most deadly piece of equipment he’d been heckled by but it was still, somehow, scary seeing that foreign machine enter where things shouldn’t. 

“You may feel some discomfort. Are you ready?” Asked First Aid, he poised the spout directly over the aperture. 

“N-no.” Maximus’s ventilations swirled in uncontrolled anxiety. He saw First Aid lift the apparatus away then shuttered his optics. He’d done this before, he could do it again, Maximus rationalised and silently counted down from five, “O,” He breathed in, then out, “Okay.” 

First Aid regarded him for just a second longer, just to be sure, then plunged the contraption into the tender space. The tapered end of the nozzle stretched the port open and Maximus’s legs twitched. 

He couldn’t feel anything, and yet he could. His mind knew something was _wrong_ and that he wanted to squirm and destroy the intrusion. 

“Switching on the machine...now.” A low hum shook the room and put tingling waves of vibration through Maximus’s plating. 

A low gurgling sound proceeded the repellant _glug-glug_ of the thickened energon being forcefully sucked into the tube. Maximus watched it leave him, slowly and with difficulty, like the machine didn’t have the strength to draw out the semi- solid gloop. 

It wasn’t the colour of normal processed energon. It was pale and sickly, like the pasty yellow of a slug’s underbelly. It was drawn out of him in viscous clumps. 

First Aid pulled a stool up to his bedside and sat. 

Even with the machine working hard the room was uncomfortable. Something was hanging in the air. The elephant in the room. First Aid was pretending to be reading over Max’s medical history. The flicker of light reflected off First Aid’s mask implied he was scrolling through the pages far too quickly to be assimilating any information. 

But then he spoke. The sound had the metaphorical effect of shattering ice. Fortress Maximus twisted on the medical slab. 

“This,” He tapped the stylus of the data board on the syphoning machine; an empty sound, “Can’t be a very pleasant thing to go through.” 

Maximus’s glossa seemed to swell in his mouth.

He knew First Aid was staring at him. He did not look back. 

First Aid grunted. The stylus was twirled nervously between his fingers. 

“Hopefully, I don’t need to reiterate how important it is that you are...cautious.”

Their roles swapped. Fortress Maximus glowered at First Aid while the other ‘bot focused on holding the stylus tightly. The questions, the _accusation_ s went unspoken but Maximus knew exactly to what First Aid was referring. 

“B-Because you know, you, you’ve _experienced_ how unpleasant this can be and well, it’s spreadable. That’s all. Through interfacing.” 

It was an entirely different attitude to Ambulon. Talk of interfacing made First Aid shy  while Ambulon didn’t care in the slightest. The variation was tricky to master and it was annoying that he needed to be cagey round his own doctor. Not that Fortress Maximus offered much anyway. 

“We’re careful.” 

That was a stab. Yes, First Aid, he and Ambulon were doing _it_ (Or at least attempting it...preparing for it) He could almost hear the pistons in First Aid’s frame seize with tension. The stylus started to quake. The reaction implied Ambulon hadn’t been too transparent in the extent of revealing their intimacy. Maximus wondered if the reference to activity between him and Ambulon was a trick to tease out the truth and confirm First Aid’s fears. 

A spasm pulled at his cistern. Fort Max shuddered as a blockage was shifted out of him. He cringed slowly round the tube extending from his middle. The machine bleeped a reprove.

“Lie down, please.”   

Maximus’s plating shuddered and clanged against the berth. 

“You’re right.” He stifled a groan by gritting his denta, “It ain’t pleasant. I’d never wish this on anyone.” 

First Aid grunted and went about preparing the next phase of their glorious evening alone. 

A wiry pipe brush was smothered in solvent. Soon to be shoved through his exhausted waste port and begin scouring away the horrid build-up of plaque pasted to the walls of his cistern. Then, the end of the vacuum would be replaced and the syphoning machine would start again. 

This was the worst part. It itched. Later, when the numbing agents were expunged from his tired systems, it throbbed in places he couldn’t reach to sooth.

Without the benefit of medication, First Aid had informed him, this process would be ten-times as bad. Max didn’t think about it. Couldn’t bare it, and he dreaded the-

_Beep, Beep, Beep._

Never mind.

First cycle complete. First Aid teased the end of the hose out of his waste port. 

_Frag_. It stung. He cleaned off the end of the nozzle and set it aside, keeping it close to hand for later. 

With the wire pipe cleaner in hand, First Aid stood over Maximus. 

“Ready?”

Maximus nodded miserably and endured. 

 

The remainder of the session, though horrendously awkward, hadn’t left Fortress Maximus fruitless. As he was preparing to leave First Aid reappeared, introverted and muttering. Maximus wasn’t entirely sure what he was being told, but some how the product of the exchange was one of those fantastic layers of protection he could wrap his spike in, miraculously large enough to mummify his girth. It passed into his possession and then First Aid escaped the room. 

Fortress Maximus didn’t have chance to thank him. The nurse had disappeared and Maximus had to see himself out of the medical bay. 

He journeyed to Swerve’s. One hand covering the sealed waste port. _Frag_ he needed something to take his mind off it. 

The expandable cuspid valve was inflamed and rubbed raw. The pressure of the modesty plating was an irritant, when he walked it chaffed and Maximus hissed often because of upset and discomfort.

At Swerve’s he spotted Ambulon, sat in their spot, quietly reading a datapad while he sipped on some engex. 

It was unusual. If Ambulon was first to arrive at the bar he normally integrated with his friends before joining Maximus. 

“Hey.” 

Ambulon looked up in surprise, his face twitching with half a smile. 

“How’d it go?” Ambulon noted the protective cradle Maximus defended his waste cistern with. 

Grumbling, Maximus descended into the seat opposite. Ambulon appealed to his friend with the offer of buying him a drink. High grade or not, Maximus never failed to enjoy fiddling with the curly straw. 

“Maybe later.” Maximus stretched across the table although there wasn’t much room for him. While he brooded Ambulon resumed reading. Sitting quietly was nice...until Max flinched unexpectedly and nearly whacked Ambulon’s empty glass off the table. 

They both flailed to catch it. In the end it landed safely in Ambulon’s lap. 

“Frag, sorry.” Maximus wasn’t looking at Ambulon as he said so, he was following Hoist with his stare. 

“Ahh, your new boss.”

“Yeah.” Maximus jittered.

“Big day tomorrow.” 

“I know... Do you think I should go and speak to him, or something.” 

“It’s up to you.” 

Maximus wavered in his seat. 

“No.”

“You sure?”

“No!” Maximus dragged his hands down his face.

“What would you say?” 

“I don’t- umm, frag.”

“You’re fired.”

“Shut up! I can’t just go up and make conversation anyway, I’d look stupid.” 

“Why?” Ambulon nearly laughed while Max frantically scraped together an action plan. 

“Let me buy you a drink. I can introduce myself to him at the bar.”

“He knows who you are.” 

“Just give me some credits! Quick, before he moves off.” 

“So really I’m buying myself a drink...” Ambulon frowned at the hilarity and produced enough credits for both of them while Fort Max bleated at him to hurry up. At least standard energon was cheap. 

“Fortress Maximus, Ambulon.”

“ _What the”-_

Since when did Rung start visit the bar?! The appearance of the gangly orange mech had the effect of a materialising specter and almost shocked Max out of his seat. 

“Hello, how are you?” Rung was _smiling._ It was _weird_. Ambulon was so glad he never needed to attend therapy. 

“Fine.” Maximus grumbled, “I was just, uh, going to get us a drink...”

_Us_ : it was a little thing. Ambulon liked it very much. 

“Would you like one too?” 

“No thank you, Maximus.” Rung saved him the mortification of needing to pester Ambulon for more credits or the other option of forfeiting one person’s drink, probably his own, for the sake of Rung.  

“Oh, well, um, I’ll just be...going then.” Anxious to intercept Hoist before he disappeared Maximus abandoned the table, clutching his credits. Ambulon twisted to watch over the back of his chair. He waited till Max mustered the confidence to engage then turned back to his reading. 

He was unpleasantly shocked to discover Rung had slid into the seat opposite. 

Smiling, hands clasped on the table, making eye contact. 

_Uh oh._

_“_ And how are you, Ambulon?”  
 _Don’t answer, it’s a trap!_

In that moment it became apparent that Fortress Maximus wasn’t the focus of Rung’s visit. No. He’d singled out Ambulon like a gazelle stranded from the herd.  

“Never better thank you. Yourself?”

“Well, I’m healthy so I suppose I can’t complain. After all, being a medic, you should appreciate that our health really is all that matters, isn’t it? Physical well being...mental stability.” 

This was a test. Ambulon knew it. _Slagger_. He breathed deeply and straightened in his seat. Expressing that he could take whatever Rung dished out. He was so sick of being ridiculed. He hadn’t sat with his friends earlier because he’d been struck by the very strong impression that he wasn’t wanted. So bring it on, Rung. Let’s see how low the stinking Autobots on this ship, with their filthy morals and false sense of heroics, could _really_ get. 

“Nothing’s more important.”

“I believe the same applies to my patients.”

So this was about Max, why was Ambulon even surprised?

“Of course.” 

“I like them to feel calm, and safe, and never under needless pressure.” 

Ambulon was quiet. If he kept his mouth shut he could antagonise with no effort. 

“I know you think you’re acting in the best interests of our...mutual friend. But I believe some discretion is to be advised. It’s not nice when someone poaches your patients and a work environment is”- 

“He deserves the opportunity.” 

“In time. Not now. Your attachments are interfering with your judgment.” 

“That’s your opinion.”

“The opinion of a psychologist.” 

“Do you know there are some people who wouldn’t even call that a science?” 

There it was. The smallest, most controlled but undeniably existent flare of outrage.   A truly gratifying response to stir from the decrepit psychotherapist. 

“You don’t know how much trouble you’ve caused.” 

Ambulon wasn’t his patient. He didn’t get the benefit of a warm coddles from the Weary Mind’s greatest alley. The language Ambulon received was cold as steel and twice as sharp. But before the real slanging match got underway Maximus returned to them. Two cubes of energon spritzers held in his hands, both adorned with curly straws. 

“How’d it go?” Ambulon smiled, bypassing Rung’s glower. 

“Great!” Max didn’t detect the hostility clouding the air like smoke, but before he continued, he looked to Rung with a nearly guilty expression, “Been talking to my new boss. He said he’s pleased to be working with me.” 

Rung smiled. The false little glitch, Ambulon thought.

“That’s good news Maximus. I wish you all the best.” And then he left them alone. Left the bar. But he didn’t leave Ambulon’s head. 

 

 

 

 

The night...hadn’t gone smoothly. 

Arriving to the first day of a new job fatigued wasn’t a good omen. But there was nothing that could be done, and they’d tried everything. 

The pain in his cistern was relentless. A fiery agony that burned through his circuits and it refused to go away. 

He could not recharge. Combined with his nerves it was impossible. He told Ambulon to leave but the medic insisted on staying, small hands gently rubbing over the cistern. It was no help, but it was comforting. 

Maximus shuddered and growled. Ambulon just soothed him, or at least tried. He held the large body against his, half draped over his legs, arranging his arms round enormous tank tread and stroked along Max’s waist. 

It was sad. Max didn’t deserve this. All the whimpering and shivering made him feel less of himself. How was he meant to function as a whole and at work when his walls of safeguarding could be stripped back so easily. 

Ambulon was mercilessly supportive. 

Even when Max claimed he was on the verge of exploding from the inside out with pain the medic promised he wouldn’t, and he was right. By the early hours of the day the blinding sensation was ebbing. 

How Fort Max coped without Ambulon he didn’t know. It was a long gone memory. A dark age. 

“Please, don’t tell anyone about this.” 

Ambulon frowned. They’d been relaxed against the wall for sometime, Maximus resting with his helm in Ambulon’s lap. Using him like a pillow. Ambulon had been tricked into thinking the larger mech had drifted in a sleep cycle until he heard the hoarse sound of Max’s voice. 

Large fingers delicately gripped Ambulon’s thigh. 

“I won’t.”

Ambulon reaffirmed his grasp. Maximus nodded against his thigh. 

They didn’t have long before Max was due at his new position. Ambulon was _blessed_ with the night shift. He began thinking of the mountain of paper work he was required to complete. A feeling a dread pulled at his innards until he had something to distract him. 

Max’s fingers tips worked unconsciously against his thigh, grating away his paint. 

Ambulon sighed.

“Max?”

“Uh, wha- sorry.” He flexed his fingers and readjusted his helm, “Jus‘ nervous...I don’t want to screw up.”

“You won’t screw up. They’re not going to make you do anything hard on your first day.” 

The grunted response was noncommittal. Ambulon let him wallow, but stayed under him devoutly, even when his legs started to cramp under the weight. Energon lines were being pressed and the circulation was disrupted.    

Time went too quickly. Maximus would have gladly stayed wrapped round Ambulon now that his cistern wasn’t paining him so. 

Preparation hadn’t taken long. When the time came to leave they stood together in the archway of the hab suite running through lists of everything Maximus needed. It wasn’t much, just some official documentation that Maximus was holding onto with fierce protectiveness. 

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Deep breath. 

“Good luck.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m going to be working the night shift so I won’t be here when you get back.” 

Maximus nodded. Another deep breath. 

“Don’t panic. You’ll be fine.” 

“Yeah.” Ambulon squeezed his hand and Maximus headed off to work.   

 

It was a relief to see Hoist walking over to him. Engaging him personally. When Fort Max stepped into the cargo bay the others ... just stared. _Ignore them, just ignore them._

“Reporting for duty, Sir.” 

Hoist greeted him pleasantly. But Max could see it, in his optics, an underlying concern - the acknowledgement that he was accepting a shortcoming into his fold and the inability to prevent it. 

Maximus didn’t allow himself to dwell on it. He focused on being shown around, tutored with care and understanding. 

In a dark corner of the expansive bay lurked Max’s predecessor covered over with a thick tarp.  

Maximus had done some background research, in the interest of being adequately prepared for the challenges ahead. The crane had left behind some difficult foot steps to follow. But Max was optimistic. 

His mood improved as the day progressed. A rhythm was established and his place in the ranks became apparent to him. A base component but a fundamental cog. He could deal with that. So long as he wasn’t superfluous. 

Hoist accompanied him through most of the procedures by the end of the shift he was satisfied and Maximus had acquainted himself with a few of the crew members he’d normally be avoided by. It was...settling.     

After work, when they were all heading for Swerve’s, they asked him along. Maximus could not refuse. Refusing didn’t occur to him. The companionship was grounding. 

They sat with him, _talked_ with him. Maximus was so pleased, nested in the middle of the ‘work crowd’ they laughed along side him like he was welcome in their clique.

Maximus couldn’t dictate grand stories like the others, but he could contribute, sometimes drawing on his experiences _before_ Garrus-9, the hallowed time where his purpose rewarded his dignity. 

They weren’t long at Swerve’s, after all, most of them (he) had a shift to work tomorrow. 

The crowd he entered the bar with he left with as well. They filtered in different direction, the stragglers heading to their accommodation on the other side of the Lost Light    waved him off when he arrive that the junction that would take him to his berth. 

Inside his room he was eaten up by the quiet. 

“Lights: On.” 

His berth was a lonely sight. It was cold without Ambulon.

Lying back, he spread himself and stretched. Hands stoking across the corner of the room. Though he knew he needed rest his processor was buzzing. So much success had fallen on him and he wanted to share it, tell it to Ambulon. See the medic beam and receive more of his congratulations...and by that he didn’t just mean kind words. 

Hmm.

Behind his chest, his spark gave a flutter. A discharge of energy washed down his frame and beneath his interface panel he felt something stir. 

Propping himself up on his elbows Maximus regarded the space between his legs. If it wasn’t considered normal, he’d have thought the feeling strange - it had been a while since anything functioned without him pleading with it to respond to stimuli. 

His thoughts wandered to the gift First Aid had bestowed him with and since he wasn’t ready to recharge...well, there was only one logical course of action. 

 

 

It was late. Ambulon was alone in the med bay, quietly conducting some analyses. The process was enough to absorb his full attention, trapping him in his little world of medicine and discovery. He wasn’t expecting any company, accidents in the night, although they did happen - were rare. 

So when two large hands wrapped round his waist Ambulon was startled. 

“Primus Max!” He gasped. Nearly shattering a test tube. 

His body was drawn against the large frame behind him. The excited purr of an engine rumbled straight through him. 

The hands roamed about his middle, exploring and meddling. Ambulon reclined against the steady form behind him: utterly contented. 

He heard the soft ‘ _shunck’_ but dismissed it until, suddenly he was being prodded firmly in the waist. He knew the feeling. Remembered the sensation as an eager press. But this was Maximus...surely not...

“Slag Max, is that you?”


	13. Chapter 13

Stumbling through the medical bay joined at the mouth wasn’t easy. It took coordination to avoid crashing. They didn’t have coordination. When Maximus started steering Ambulon toward the berth his back hit a trolly instead. 

It overturned and tools were scattered across the floor. 

The sound was noisy. 

With a gasp Ambulon pulled back from Maximus’s hungering mouth and assessed the mess. 

“Slag.” 

Maximus didn’t care. He was preoccupied, biting Ambulon’s neck while maneuvering his partner onto the berth. 

Purposely he cupped Ambulon’s interface and began rubbing at it insistently. 

Mouth drooping, Ambulon groaned and bucked the heating components into Max encompassing hand. 

“W-Wait.” Maximus drew back, dragging his tongue over his lips and optics shining darkly with intent making Ambulon feel like he was staring at someone feral. It was enough to make his spark sizzle and his vents whirled. In that moment all he saw was Max looming in front him, powerful and effortlessly arousing, his spike: a factor so prominent it made it difficult to keep eye contact, “We c-can’t. Not here. Get to the back rooms.”

Max acknowledged, slipped both hands under Ambulon’s aft and sharply pulled the medic against him, grinding the warm interface along his spike as he scooped Ambulon off the berth and carried him. 

Ambulon looped his arms round Maximus’s neck, fingers interlocked tightly behind his helm as Ambulon squirmed, brushing his body along Maximus’s broad chest. 

Hard, sloppy kisses followed. Denta clashed and oral lubricant was drooled. Maximus felt his lip components being bitten. Ambulon dared to unhook his fingers. He gripped Maximus’s collar while the other hand dragged down his body, to Maximus’s spike. 

His hand didn’t fit round it. Not entirely, there was a gap between his fingers when he brushed up and down the length. Frag, it was going to be squeeze. The idea was electricity, it put a current of arousal through him that melted his struts. 

They hit the wall beside one of the back offices. 

Maximus had made a conscious effort to avoid the room in which he’d had his cistern cleansed. 

“What’s so funny?” Ambulon gasped into his partner’s sultry face. Max leaned back from him and smirked. 

“Whose office do you want to do it in?”

A guffaw blocked Ambulon’s airways. What a choice! 

Ambulon’s hand was still working the throbbing spike as he mulled over his options. Maximus was lazily thrusting against him, one arm braced along the wall. 

First Aid and he shared an office. They had desk each. 

Ratchet, on the other hand, had an office to himself, a desk...and a berth. 

“Ratchet, definitely Ratchet’s.” 

In a frenzied scramble, Ambulon found himself pinned to the door of Ratchet’s office, his face pressed to the window embedded in the frame work, his hot ventilations misting the glass. 

Maximus was squashed against his back, conducting heat and desire. One hand reached round the front of Ambulon’s body and fingers dipped into unprotected seams in his groin. Ambulon lurched backward sharply, crying out. 

“Open the door.” Maximus growled in his audio, lashing his glossa where ever it could reach. 

Ambulon entered the code. The door slid aside and they stumbled in. 

Robbed of the support Ambulon fell into Ratchet’s desk, knocking aside his CMO’s name slate and some mind-numbing paper work. 

A shaving of paint peeled off his forearm. 

“Careless.” Maximus commented, stepping close. 

Ambulon’s hips were grabbed, his aft tugged backward and clanked with Maximus’s groin. He felt the weight of the spike lying on his aft. It was dense and warm and moist with  streaky fluids. 

“Close the fragging door!”

 Ambulon wasn’t satisfied until Maximus kicked the door shut and he heard the latch click into place. Then he groaned loudly. 

“I’m guessing you had a good day?” 

“Mmhmm.” Maximus was busy measuring how deeply he’d be buried in Ambulon should he manage to squash the entire spike in the valve willing to attempt taking him. 

Ambulon would be stuck on him. Speared and stretched. It was an idea that made his EM fields burn eagerly. Just seeing him like this, bent over the desk, rocking his weight from side to side because the itch in his valve was becoming distracting, was delicious. The sensation tickled Ambulon.

“So, how’d you want to do this?” While Ambulon was trying to think of anything but how empty he felt Maximus produced the present First Aid had gifted him with and dangled it in front of Ambulon’s nasal rigid. 

Optics revolved a few time, making sense of the neat package Maximus was waving ahead of him. 

“It’s a present, from our friend First Aid.”

Air was sucked abruptly into Ambulon’s systems. 

“The glitch lied to me, he said all the big ones had gone!” 

“Want you to put it on me.” He felt Max shift back enough for him to spin, Ambulon rolled onto his back, the action making and awful clanging noise. More of Ratchet’s documents were reshuffled onto the floor. 

It was done. Out of his control but Ambulon was mortified, like all the possible repercussions descended on him at once. 

“Slag...”

“Relax. We’ll pick them up after.” 

For safe keeping, Max held the wrapper between his denta. 

Lubricant was leaking past the seams of Ambulon’s interface covers. Giving in to the lust that overpowered self awareness Ambulon sank back, his shoulders hit the desk but his helm lolled, without support, off the edge. 

“If we get caught I’m fragged.”

“You’re gunna get fragged anyway.” The lilt of mischief in the promise put a smile of Ambulon’s face. 

His hands transversed his body and groped his interface. 

“I hope so.” He parted his thighs enough so Maximus had a clear view when Ambulon’s interface panel slid back and the well of lubricant trapped inside washed out. 

A splat of pink hit the desk.

Maximus huffed; transfixed on the lonely bead of lubricant left quivering on the edge of Ambulon’s valve. His spike pulsed, begging him to stop stalling and bury as much of himself as he could in the awaiting slick, tight valve.

Fingers started working fervently in the shadows of the valve. The exhibitionism was filthy and Maximus was too mesmerised to look away or even _help._ The wet sounds combined with Ambulon’s low, unintended moans brought to life the heat in the room. Fortress Maximus was doused in clammy anticipation. 

When Ambulon’s spike rose from its sheath, Max nibbled on the wrapper he’d been holding. 

The three dextrous fingers kneading Ambulon’s valve spread, the action accompanied by a breathless keen. 

“M-Max”- 

Max was already reaching forward, stroking his finger tips across the interface ports in Ambulon’s thighs up to his valve, moping up the lubricant and delving between Ambulon’s digits compressed in the valve, wiggling and intermingling until pieces of him were also slotted deep inside the gluttonous valve and Ambulon was gasping and grinding the heal of his palm over his spike’s head. Utterly out of control.  

“I love seeing you like this.” Ambulon heard Max whisper almost too quietly to notice. He lifted his head up, straining his neck to meet with the eyes of his unmaker only to have Max glance away. 

Freeing his fingers for other purposes, Ambulon guided Maximus to replace the loss of tension inside his valve, then sat up slowly. 

Internal mesh constricted the fingers inside him. 

Leaning upward Ambulon stole the package from between Max’s denta and used both hands to gather their spikes, hold them together and briskly began rubbing them.

He heard Maximus grunt.  

Ambulon’s spike was drastically undersized in comparison. Though he didn’t feel self conscious. If anything, the idea of all that girth pounding inside him was making him delirious. 

“Berth?” Ambulon presented the question. His thumb rubbed circles over the tip of Max’s spike.  

The berth wasn’t far from the desk. Maximus sat on the edge. It creaked. 

When the fingers abandoned his valve entirely Ambulon shuddered. His overload hadn’t been far away, the charge in his circuits settled into dormancy, though his valve still ached with arousal, it intensified when he got onto his knees and arranged his helm over Maximus’s spike. 

With care he broke the wrapper and shuffled the plastic wrap into his waiting hand. 

“What’re you doing?” Max shifted so he was supported by his hands  spread behind him. The rolled up plastic wrap was left balancing on top of his weeping spike. 

Ambulon didn’t answer. Actions were more prudent. 

He sunk in. With practiced assurance he rolled the wrap over Max’s spike using his mouth. 

Arousal burned in the bottom of Max’s tanks. Ambulon’s mouth swallowed the contours of his spike. 

Though the head seemed to fill his mouth entirely Ambulon kept pushing. His lips were taut and his cheeks were already stretched. The protective layer was eased down Max’s girth - through it he felt the moisture and heat of Ambulon’s mouth. Oral fluid dribbled down his spike, making the contours shine. 

Ambulon took more, pushing his head down, shuddering and fighting off the need to convulse when the head of Max’s spike pressed into his intake aperture. 

Knuckles brushed his cheek plating affectionately. Like Max was proud of what he’d accomplished even if Ambulon had only managed to devour half the length. His glossa darted out in quick, delicate licks, absorbing the current building an electric charge in every sensor.   

Keeping as much as he could manage in the devotion his mouth could offer, Ambulon secured the rest of the plastic wrap in place with a nimble hand. Squeezing and stroking the spike on the way down. 

Maximus hips jerked forward, into the indulgence, he couldn’t resist. The expression on Ambulon’s face twitched, optics half-hooded and unfocused as he concentrated on suckling the spike. 

Maximus’s thighs tensed as overload approached, his aft rocked off the berth. 

A hand came to rest on the back of Ambulon’s head. Very gently.

“I...don’t think I can last.” Maximus confessed between ragged pants churned out from his taxed ventilation systems. 

Ambulon leaned off the spike, the tip got a kiss on automatic.  Gulping a couple times, he flicked his glossa over his tired lips. Maximus hadn’t noticed when this had happened but, as Ambulon relaxed onto his haunches, he saw Ambulon had reintroduced fingers to his valve, manipulating it slowly, drawing out the ministrations and had been doing so while he’d been sucking spike. Lubricant pattered the space under him.  

The plastic wrap pasted to his spike gleamed with oral fluid. Maximus drank in the sight of the mech on his knees in front of him, willingly offering his body, lubricant dribbling streaks down his scuffed thighs. The fingers rubbing sensors meant that Ambulon could not keep still. He waited for Max with obedience, gasping softly, dragging his denta across his lips. 

A hand was still resting on Ambulon’s helm. It sunk to his neck and Maximus guided Ambulon up, onto his feet then spun him onto the berth. 

Ambulon bounced into position. Legs spread enthusiastically, both hands gripped his thighs and eased them further apart until the joints in his groin stressed. His valve flexed round nothing, yearning for something - a fat spike to push him apart and make all the preparation worth while. 

His own spike oozed fluid. Ambulon grasped it and toyed with himself in front of Maximus, making lewd, needy sounds, fueling the carnal urge that unleashed Max upon him. 

Max’s body eclipsed him. Ambulon felt tiny and properly mastered when Max took him in a hungry kiss. The blunt, pulsing width of Max’s spike nudged into the engorged lips of his valve. Callipers dialed back in anticipation. Max ground slowly against him, testing the invitation.  

Ambulon urged the tension in his body to ease. This was going to be a challenge and all his excitement wasn’t helping his body to relax. Though Max seemed equally rigid. When Ambulon explored the nooks of his frame he felt an anxious charge lash at him. 

“You’re okay.”

“Haven’t done this in a while.”

“Doesn’t matter.” 

Before Maximus could give in to consternation Ambulon pushed down. Reflexively, Maximus thrust forward to meet the action, the head of it spike splayed calipers. Around him, Ambulon’s body jerked, legs flung high, he knocked Maximus aft. 

The larger ‘bot panicked and withdrew. Ambulon whined.

Gulping back the misgivings Maximus pressed forward again. Hands pinned Ambulon’s hips in place, using them like handles as Maximus eased his spike into place again. 

The calipers winked over his spike. 

Ambulon reached down, two fingers prizing his valve open wide, giving away a glimpse of what awaited Max. A warm, wet clutch. 

No more indecision, Fort Max decided. The resolution shone firmly in his optics as he began to drive home. 

Ambulon’s denta clenched. 

_Oh frag._

Maximus felt limbs lock around him, caging him in the smaller body groaning under him. 

The valve calipers flared, flattened to the extremes, helpless as the girth brushed past them. 

The burn was immeasurable, Ambulon couldn’t spread his legs any wider as Maximus’s hips pushed closer. Gears started locking. The cry Ambulon had been biting back rolled out. 

Max paused. 

What he’d managed to wedge inside was being pinched tightly. Inside Ambulon felt bloated and stuck, his valve’s mesh rippling along the unmoving intrusion.

“D-don’t stop.” 

Maximus grunted, swinging back before easing forward again. Ambulon held onto him tighter. The sting spreading along his aft. 

Lubricant bubbled near the aperture. 

Maximus massaged Ambulon’s stomach. The metal was hot and taut and trembling, it warped outward, internal components reconfigured to avoid trapping the spike or, alternatively, being impaled. 

“How is it?” Maximus huffed. Ambulon’s expression was conflicted. It hurt, oh Primus it hurt, but it was _delicious_ and he was willing to beg for more. One hand rubbed the area round his valve, his fingers slipping through the sticky mess, reaching Maximus’s girth and spreading the excretion.

A shiver melted his higher thoughts.

“Primus, how much more is there?!” Ambulon tried to sit up but didn’t have the strength. What was left to push in him didn’t look like much but it was. Ambulon watched his valve devour the inches, “Max I’m so full!” Ambulon threw his head back and wailed. The tip of the spike was compressing the apex of his valve, lubricant flowed into the valve but there was no room for it and Ambulon feared he was on the verge of exploding with ecstasy. He gyrated his body round the spike, every ridge, every plump sensor node was squeezed inside but, _Primus!_ , there was still _more_. 

The base of the spike, a solid ring of metal, no, no he couldn’t possibly - _ahh!_ Without verbal deterrence Maximus pressed in. The callipers trembled around him, spread too flat to clench.

Maximus shook. Surges of power wracked his frame. All of him wedged in Ambulon. The little ‘bot gaped, too lost in rapture to do anything but rake his fingers along Fortress Maximus’s tank treads while his valve held Maximus’s spike in a reflexive massage. The squeeze was perfect. So tight, so warm, Max wanted more. Wanted to release the overload twisting his spark. 

Every pulse, every twitch inside him, Ambulon felt it. 

Then Max moved. 

He dragged back slowly, igniting sensors on the way out. Lubricant rushed into the  new relief space and Ambulon breathed deep. Then thrust.

The end of his valve was bruised. A current of electricity shot directly to his spark. 

Ambulon spat static. 

He fought his body’s natural desire to peel open his spark casing and share the core of his self with Maximus. Ambulon quickly buried the command. The energy howling in his spark would have to satisfy itself.    

 Another thrust. Slow, torpid. Vents whirled. 

Ambulon was gathered up in Maximus arms, pulled into his lap. He slumped against his torso, grinding down on the hard spike, allowing Maximus to control him as they fragged. 

He bounced constantly. The spike never leaving, just shifting inside him, thoroughly defiling his insides. Reducing Ambulon to a moaning wreck of pleasure. Wet slaps of metal connecting filled the room along side wanton groans and the air dumped from rapidly heated systems.   

  Ambulon tried to say something but gave up, Maximus felt the spinal struts buck against him. 

More, he must have wanted more. But Maximus’s overload was rushing at him. The weight of Ambulon sinking down his length, the buzz of his charge drizzling down his thighs like lubricant - he couldn’t hold back. 

He broke the rhythm as transfluid erupted out of him, swelling the plastic wrap. Ambulon felt it inflate inside him and howled. So hot. Maximus pounded through the overload erratically. The back swash of fluid squirted out of the valve and pooled over his legs. At first it was searing. The smell wafted up and gathered under Ambulon’s nasal sensors.  

“Oh frag.” He whimpered. 

“Overload for me, Ambulon.” 

There was a hand groping his spike while Maximus continued rocking through the post-overload haze. Relishing the brutal, desperate squeeze of Ambulon’s valve. 

“You’re _filthy._ ” As if the word itself pushed Ambulon over the edge, the energy roiling in his spark discharged. His valve nursed the last viscous dollop out of Maximus’s grotesquely thick spike and his own transfluid squirted over his chest, picturesque  debauchery.

“F-frag.” Ambulon whispered, trembling. The warmth of Maximus’s thrumming torso passed through him. Maximus held him. Everything was still, just the sound of systems returning to a gradual equilibrium. 

“Hello?” 

_Panic!_ Ambulon ripped himself off Maximus’s spike. Immediately, he sunk to the ground. His calipers felt like they’d prolapsed. 

He curled his lips and hummed with pain, hands clamped under thighs squashed together. 

“Hello?” The voice called again. Who the frag would be visiting now?!

Fortress Maximus found the floor beside Ambulon, tentatively wrapping his arms round the smaller bot while he grieved the pain in his valve. But after some cautious inspection he concurred that everything was still in place - it just hurt like a bitch. 

“I’ll be with you in a minute!” He choked out. Voice hoarse and pitched too high to be comfortable. 

Frag! Everything was a mess, _he_ was a mess, he wasn’t even _allowed_ in Ratchet’s office. 

Ambulon motioned at Max to stay quiet while he limped about the room, set on making himself presentable. 

They shared out some cleaning rags and Ambulon madly smeared the transfluid round his chest. _It wasn’t coming off_! Slag, slag - Maximus passed him a bottle of antiseptic liquid stashed beside the berth. 

It wasn‘t ideal...frag it, it would do. Ambulon hurriedly doused his rag in the liquid, splashing much of it onto the floor. 

“Doctor?” 

“Just a moment! Is it urgent?” 

Maximus knelt, wiped his cloth down the inside of Ambulon’s thighs from behind. Pressing kisses along the distressed medic’s aft. 

“Yeah! Nah, not really. Had an incident with a plasma cutter”-

“Hurry the frag up!” Ambulon snapped at Max earning himself a hard nip to the rear.  

Outside the office Atomizer loitered. He could see the light coming from Ratchet’s office and heard all kinds of weird noises upon entering the med bay. 

“You alright in there Ambulon?” He was pacing toward the door. 

Too curious for his own good. Through the sheet of frosted glass he saw shadows fuss urgently.

“Yeah fine.” 

Ambulon wrenched open the door, stepped out and slammed it quickly. 

Atomizer scuttled back, taking in Ambulon’s ragged appearance, the heavy stench of antiseptic and...and 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes!” Ambulon marched forward. What began with confidence ended in pain, “Right, what is it, what’s the problem?”

Fortress Maximus did as instructed. He sat quietly while Ambulon sent Atomizer on his merry way. 

On inspection they really had made a mess of the room. Maximus regretted behaving without respect, he only hoped they had enough time to clean up before Ratchet returned and that he could still fit in a few hours of recharge. The trails of the day were taking their toll. That overload was the final blow. 

He reclined on the berth, fiddling with his spike. In the mean time it had depressurised and was ready to retract into its sleeve once he peeled away the plastic wrap. 

Just like Ambulon he was mess. Most of his transfluid was still collected in the plastic wrap. He tried to keep it in there when he removed it. 

On the opposite end of the room, near the door was an open disposal can. With measured care and precision Fort Max flicked the plastic wrap into the bin. It met its target with a splat just as Ambulon returned. 

“Did you see that!” Max’s face light up with delight. But the triumph was lost on Ambulon who was still shaking from the frantic fear of being caught shagging in his CMO’s office with a patient. 

“Help me clean up.” 

The effort lasted for the whole of ten minutes. Then Ambulon was on the floor, under Max again, the little stack of data pads he’d gathered squashed beneath his shoulders. 

 


	14. Chapter 14

Whirl arrived on time. For once. He was always being criticized for his poor time keeping. Especially by Rung. 

“ _I have other patients, Whirl, I cannot afford to break schedule and cutting our sessions together short doesn’t benefit anyone.”_

Now the shoe was on the other foot, _ah ha!_ Oh, Whirl was going to enjoy ridiculing Rung. He’d get a kick out of it. He’d been hovering out side Rung's office for nearly five minutes listening to a muffled version of Rung chiding his current patient. Fortress Maximus. 

Whirl tried to listen, but Rung took patient confidentiality very seriously. If he was caught breaching privacy...again, it would be his third strike and Ultra Magnus would toss him indefinitely in the brig...but frag the police! Whirl skittered up to the door, carried by gleeful curiosity. 

He dialed up his audios and prepared to press himself to the door when it suddenly whooshed back and Whirl was leaning into Fortress Maximus’s torso.

“Oh, Hello.” His optic winked up at Maximus. The larger bot scowled down at him, fists clenched. One held a sheet of paper.

“Whirl!” Rung squawked, his voice strained from battling with Maximus over who knows what. 

“Bit of a late start Doc‘ was starting to think you didn’t want me.”

“Come in.” 

Maximus was stalking away. Rung was wedging his way into the arch as Whirl was squeezing past. 

“Maximus! Please consider what I said!” 

Nothing, not even a nod of acknowledgment. 

Inside the office, Whirl noted how deflated Rung looked, how tired and worn out. The door closed and Rung retired into his chair, posture stooped. 

This was going to be a good session. Whirl had a feeling. 

They ran through the usual proceedings and Whirl, after hopping onto the comfy berth, started rattling off some bullshit tale to appease Rung while he continued gauging the therapists mood. 

“...Don’t you think?” 

Rung looked startled, he hadn’t expected to be included so suddenly. Oh this was _delicious!_  Rung had been dreaming, and no amount of assessing the imagined notes he’d made was going to help him escape Whirl’s clutches. 

“Doc?”

“I - I’m sorry, Whirl I seem to have gotten a bit distracted.”

“N’aw, not now! I was making progress Doc’, _progress_.” 

This tipped Rung’s balance. Whirl could feel the guilt irradiating his energy fields. 

“Well I am sorry but”-

“What’s so important that you can’t listen to me?”

“Nothing’s more important!” 

“But there is something.” Whirl sat up on the berth, clasping his claws together as much as he could, leaning into Rung with inquisition.

“No Whirl, please continue.”

“Is it about Fortress Misery - mean Max.” 

“Whirl.” It was a warning, “You know I am not at liberty to discuss my other patients.” 

“But that kind of talk _really_ helps. Makes me feel like I’m not alone, y’know? You know?” 

Rung didn’t hide his grimace very well. 

“All I will say is: You and everyone else on this ship are mature enough to make your own decisions. I can only give you advice and _hope_ you take it into consideration. I may have a duty of care toward you but it’s up to you to choose how to make the most out of that benefit.” The depth of the advice was listened to and lost. Whirl never cared much for helping himself. That time had passed. 

“I think that it’s admirable that you try to help people.”

“Really, do you?” The gloom casting shadows over Rung’s expression lifted. Misinterpreting Whirl’s interest as something positive.  

“Of course. It’s a pity that it goes unappreciated.”

“I wouldn’t say”-

“And that nobody listens to you. A good shock is what is needed here, something to get the ball rolling, get re-evaluating.” This was worrying. 

“I don’t quite know what you’re suggesting Whirl.” 

“Say no more Rung, I hear you loud and clear. Maximus owes me credits you know. Been meaning to pay him a visit. I’ll crook your wayward sheep. Bring him back into flock.”

The metaphorical trill didn’t ease Rung’s concern. Discouraging Whirl was never an option and perhaps, if it made Maximus see sense, then it wasn’t a bad thing either. 

   

 

 

 

_He felt an itch, more than an itch, a tingle in his head and he could not scratch it. Why? He wasn’t able to move his arms and rub away the irritation. Was he being weighed down? It didn’t feel like that._

_Next there was something touching him. So, so gently. Over his chest._

_Frag, help! Somebody, please help!_

_What was happening? He couldn’t see! But there was someone there. He heard the struggle of lighter footsteps and a bloodless chuckled._

_Gargantuan hands roamed over buckled plating._

_Oh no, please..._

_“Max.”_

Cybertronians do not dream. They remember. They relive. Sometimes they cannot escape. 

Fortunately, Fortress Maximus woke up. Alarmed and shaking but _intact._ He ground his palms into his optics to be sure they still functioned and then massaged his frantic spark. 

He didn’t remember sitting up. Some wild impulse must have urged him - it was the drive to escape. The feeling lingered, much like the sound of that damn voice! Always ringing in his audios. 

He _had_ to make it stop.

_Make it stop!_

_“_ L-Lights: On.”

His berth was empty. 

Fortress Maximus felt no remorse when he reached for the pill capsules. 

Just two tablets pattered into his hands. 

The last of this proscription. He’d be visiting First Aid tomorrow for a renewal. 

For now he made do. 

His size dwarfed the pills, their colourful patterns made them look almost like sweets. How could something so small ever help him? Was he just wasting his time?

Maximus couldn’t afford to think like that. He had a work shift tomorrow, he needed to be in good condition. He couldn’t...he couldn’t give in. Again. 

This was his chance. 

The medicine was swallowed. His tanks gave a rumble as digestive juices started pumping in. 

Before lying back down Max glanced round the room. Every corner was well lit. There was no where to hide. It was okay, he was on his own. 

The rattle of worried plating disturbed to room. Not in a good way. Yes, it was a distraction from the hellish stillness Maximus despised but he couldn’t dismiss the feeling that _something_ was coming for him. It crawled up his armour and made him shudder even more. 

He squirmed on the berth. Longing for something to chase away his fear. His hands curled at his sides. 

But despite how desperately in need of comfort he was, Maximus was grateful Ambulon hadn’t been beside him when he woke. It’d worry his partner. 

As much as Ambulon was supportive he was still cautious. As a medic he held influence over Max. With a single report or counterproductive opinion he had the power to bury Max in hours of therapy, or even retract the work placement he’d helped Max gain. 

Max couldn’t have that. 

He tried closing his eyes again, then quickly reactivated. 

Nothing had moved. The room was as it was. 

But he wasn’t at ease. 

Something had changed. It was worse recently. A part of his mind figured it was the byproduct of his decrease in medication. As promised, Rung was dwindling the amount. He’d recognised the change to his mood almost immediately though he denied it. 

He had everything: A job, Ambulon, _support_. He should be happy. He should be fine. 

But if that was the case, then why couldn’t he keep his eyes shut?

 

 

There was a buzzer that marked the end of every shift. Upon hearing it Fortress Maximus was startled. It was too loud, he thought. But his work mates didn’t seem to care, so why should Max?

They actually looked forward to the horrendous blaring sound. They called it the sound of freedom. Their occupation had relinquished its hold for another day. They could leave, go to bed, go to Swerve’s, do what ever they wanted. But mostly they chose to head to Swerve’s.  

Alongside the group of mechs Fortress Maximus was slowly coming to call his friends, he left the cargo bay. His tools were tucked away, all the crates were stacked in order. It was neat end to a productive day. 

“Not coming to Swerve’s, Max?” Someone asked when their paths branched apart. Maximus stared at the band of grubby faceplates looking at him expectantly. Max scratched the back of his helm distractedly. 

“Uhh, maybe later, got plans first.” They plodded in opposite directions. As always his work mates were understanding. Never pressuring him, but the offer was there should he choose to take it. Maximus liked being a part of their crowd, a part of him did feel he owed them a better explanation but he wasn’t about to confess that, by plans he meant an appointment. 

After working hours was the only time he had available to swing by the medical bay and check in with First Aid.         

The chorus of laugher died in the distance. Maximus transversed the ship’s levels to the medical bay wrapped in his thoughts, reviewing the amended proscription Rung amended for him. The volume of medicine he was due to receive had lowered...again. 

Now he was only required to take two thirds of what he’d originally been allocated.  

This was progress. 

Soon he’d be walking without crutches. First Aid would always issue him the same amount of drugs to ease the infectious viruses, he’d never escape that. But mental stability was within his grasp. Not just through the action of dosing up daily. The achievement would be his alone, for pushing and getting things done by himself. 

In the medical bay First Aid edited the proscription, marking the transactions as complete. 

“Is that it?” He asked when First Aid returned from the medicine cabinet. The bottles were smaller this time. 

“Yep, make sure you stick to the recommendations.” 

Fortress Maximus rolled the capsules over in his palm and read over the labels. 

“Wait.” His arm shot out, reaching for First Aid as the medic turned to leave him, but not touching. Something was missing. The miracle-pill as he called it. Fort Max never learnt the correct title. The one he needed most. All this talk of walking with out crutches was forgotten as panic unsettled his insides. He _needed_ that pill. It calmed him down. Soothed his haywire anxiety. Tucked him in at night. 

For his own peace of mind, First Aid uncurled Max’s proscription and double checked.

“Nope. Rung’s withdrawn it. Congratulations.”

Fortress Maximus muttered a disjointed thanks. Across the room, where Ambulon was supposed to be attending other patients, he saw his partner smile.

The gesture was returned half-heartedly.     

 

 

 

 

“What’s the matter?” 

“Why’d you stop?” 

Maximus’s hands had been guiding Ambulon’s hips up and down his spike which was wedged deeply in the smaller bot. 

Hot and huffing and charged, the disconsolate mood Fortress Maximus cast out wasn’t helping Ambulon’s libido. Not in the slightest. 

“I asked first.” The spike inside him was dead weight. His valve continued clutching and rippling and his charge restlessly fizzed in the area round his major circuits. Stuck. It was miserable state to be in.    

Maximus dimmed his optics and let his head drop back. It clanged against his berth. 

“Nothing. I’m just...tired.” 

Great. Ambulon’s vents sighed in disappointment. He’d worked so damn hard to ease himself onto that spike. It had taken longer without Max’s assistance. Ambulon had mistakenly thought it was because Max was enjoying the show of watching his partner fumble to align, and more importantly, contain the enormous girth within his suffering valve. 

Despite the resounding ‘oh no’ wailed by his neglected components, Ambulon’s expression took on an overall look of concern. 

“Max?” 

Maximus shifted, the spike butting the roof of Ambulon’s valve, putting an irrepressible shudder through the smaller bot. They couldn’t talk with _that_ kind of distraction in play.

Cold air brushed over his spike and Maximus glanced back to see Ambulon wiggling off the head of his erection. Streaks of pink-ish fluid were left behind and Ambulon’s valve quivered. He slipped off Max entirely and crawled up to the berth, to where Max was resting his head. 

Lying on his side, resting on the wall and propped up by his elbow Ambulon stared down at the moping shadow. 

“Lights: On.” 

The command made Max flinch, Ambulon saw him glance about the room and wondered what he could be looking for. 

The size of Max’s spike was already decreasing and eager to be shut away again. 

“I’m sorry.” Max said, in a hardly audible whisper. The wash of his EM field was punishing. Ambulon couldn’t understand... and the detachment; it felt like they’d taken a step back. 

Maximus sensed Ambulon’s vexation and saw the quirk in his brows knitting together. 

“I had a long day...can we just,” Maximus maneuvered one arm, allowing Ambulon to fall into place, pressed into his body and helm lightly resting over his spark casing. 

“Okay.” Amublon responded with snuggling and clutched Max’s frame. 

Maximus thanked him with a kiss. 

They curled up and savored the quiet and calm. Maximus continued observing the room discretely, but partly distracted by the steady rise and fall of Ambulon’s body as he breathed. 

It wasn’t until Ambulon felt his optics start to dim that he suggested they settle into recharge. 

While Maximus ingested his revised medication, Ambulon’s hands mapped his broad body and snapped the recharge connecters into place. 

They both had shifts to cover in the morning, but Ambulon’s reserves were plentiful. If he slept he could conserve that energy. 

When Max lay back down they retook their positions and the lights were switched off.  

Everything was blessedly quiet. Ambulon might not have achieved a satisfactory overload but he made his own consolation award. Snuggled next to Fortress Maximus’s strong frame was enough. He breathed in the smell of oil and the rinse he washed with in  the shower racks. It was contenting. He was peaceful...until Maximus started to twitch. 

It was odd and infrequent at first. But Ambulon was alerted to it. 

Maximus’s peds scrapped the berth and he whispered a moan.

Ambulon lifted his body and watched his partner’s head thrash urgently. Denta were bared and his lips anxiously chewed on. 

Maximus hands flinched. Fingers grabbing at invisible threats. 

Ambulon stayed completely still and worried. Too afraid to touch but desperately wanting to rescue Maximus from his own mind’s torment. 

For the rest of the night he would remain vigilant.  Suddenly, his job was replaced as the priority...again. 


	15. Chapter 15

Cocooned by the blackness of his vision and confusion, Maximus felt weightless. As his senses gathered they started grinding with his lack of perception. 

Static coughed from his raw vocaliser made the mech in front of him laugh. 

“I thought I’d better pay you a visit Maximus. It’s been such a long time after all. I was worried you might feel neglected. That is, if there’s anything left functioning in your rotten processor to comprehend neglect.”

Something pressed into his arm. _Hnnng!_ It was a deep, intimate pain. Somehow, whatever was touching him dipped between his armour, like it was passing through the barrier of metal. The cables inside were tugged on. Energon lines burst, wires were dragged out of position. 

_Oh Primus!_ What was going on?! 

As he delved into his processor for answers he was denied access to his own memories. Something else was pushed in there to disrupt him. A foreign body, a parasite wriggling in his brain. It itched. Whatever it was, Maximus knew it didn’t belong. It needed to be ejected, and quickly because...because... 

Aequitas. 

It wanted him to think about Aequitas. 

No...he shouldn’t. 

Maximus tried to thrash. He couldn’t. There was no escape. Suspended in this terrible, motionless trap he burned and bled. 

“I wish you could see yourself, Maximus. I really, really do.” 

There was another sharp, agonising tug on his exposed arm circuitry. Maximus convulsed. The denta that were loose in his gums gnashed together. One discomfort to distract him from another. Though he couldn’t keep his mouth shut for long. Whatever was picking apart his head had an unnatural numbing effect on his face, his jaw liked to slacken and hang open. A true delight for his Decepticon captors. 

“It’s quite magnificent. There’s almost nothing left of you. How have you not offlined? I must say, I’m impressed.” 

Impressed, aroused; the meaning were interchangeable. Either way Max was getting fucked, “Or are you just greedy? Judging from the little rumours I hear, I’d guess that, if I was to cut you down, you’d bend over for me. It’s a shame that you can’t.” 

Maximus wished he hadn’t made a sound, it acted as encouragement. 

Overlord’s visits had become less frequent. Apparently, with his body so broken Fortress Maximus didn’t offer the challenge Overlord lusted after. The lack of fighting spirit might have snubbed Overlord’s attentions, the other Decepticon’s, however, found the Autobot’s will in tatters endlessly alluring. 

It was because they were cowards. They knew Maximus couldn’t fight back, they knew _why_ he couldn’t fight back. 

Locked in a confounded stupor where his own thought processes turned against him, Maximus was subconsciously aware of every single violation. The repeated process had worn internal traction smooth. Like it had been filed off. And so he bled until his entire aft ached and moaned because this sick ruination was all he had left. Without it he felt nothing. Was aware of nothing. 

Except the things in his head that didn’t belong and he fought to resist. 

“A real pity.” Overlord whispered. The touches became gentle and roaming. Both hands spreading across his frame. Exploring old wounds, picking them open again until coolant and energon rushed to seal the damage and poured over Max’s frame instead, “There’s not much else I can do to you that they haven’t already done. I know I’m not winning awards for originality but... being the first to enact something, it can be so _satisfying_. I could start a trend.” The smugness pushed Maximus under his pent up fears. They welled up inside him as he struggled to guess at what else could possibly be done to him. So much had been taken from him, surely there was nothing else to give. Except there was. And though he dreaded it, when Overlord’s hands stopped over his spark casing and squeezed Maximus knew what the Bastard wanted and it him turned cold from the inside out. 

A strangled sound escaped him. 

“What was that Maxy?” Overlord swooped in close. The proximity described to Max by the sensation of Overlord’s breathing brushing over his body. 

Though he was met with resistance, Maximus tried to tilt his helm away. At once Overlord hand snatched out and grasped his jaw. Disobedience was self-destructive. Maximus hadn’t forgotten the repercussions that followed. His error was a lapse in judgment caused by total confusion. An accident. Not that Overlord would chose to believe that.

The hand clamped over his chin tightened. It was too late to take back the wrong doing and no amount of garbled apologies could save Fortress Maximus now. 

It was pleasing to hear damaged fans grind under the warden’s overheating armour. Even more pleasurable to make him squirm. 

Fortress Maximus’s hectic, desperately contrived groveling was ended, suddenly and sharply. 

“Liar.” The word spoken with such contempt that Maximus flinched, “You’re behaving like an animal, Maximus. Where’s your self respect? Drooling all over yourself and lying. It’s embarrassing.”

Maximus hadn’t realised his jaw had slackened again. He made an effort to close it but the action was uncoordinated. His lip components didn’t meet and his glossa dangled passed his denta. The long, low moan he didn’t realise he was making fed Overlord’s arousal. 

Overlord’s hand eventually pressed the mouth closed after a moment of delightful struggle. He squashed Maximus‘s jaw upward until he creased the warden’s face. 

“What are you worth to anyone except a frag?”           

  Maximus was helpless. He thought...he didn’t think... he just knew the only way to preserve what was left was to be compliant. _Think of the bigger picture_ the battle not yet fought. He’d been conserving all his energy since the moment he’d first been subdued. His chance was gone. This was all he was. A sickening, useless nothing. 

“I...I don’t k-know.” His mouth fell apart again. A well of oral fluid trickled down his chin to be smudged away by Overlord’s thumb. 

“Really?”  

However degrading it was, sometimes giving Overlord what he wanted was better than the alternative. Maximus was frequently praised for his rebellion. Overlord called it entertaining. Showing Fortress Maximus how easily he could be mastered was always delightfully refreshing. Stealing hope away ground the sense of shame deeper until it consumed Max. 

For the sake of self preservation Max sometimes bent to the phase-sixer’s will. Today, he complied because his mind was too haggard to remember resistance. 

“Please, _please_. I don’t know.” The deep tenor of his voice slurred the words, “Can’t think.” 

“I know something you can think about. Aequitas.”   

It wasn’t an outright denial (Overlord hated and loved those all at once) but Maximus shrunk into himself and the effect was the same. 

Overlord dragged his hand down Maximus’s remains. A silent threat. He paused beside the savaged stumps where powerful legs should have been. 

“Go on Max.” Thick fingers delved into Max’s thighs. the Autobot panted loudly, spitting fluid as a searing pain journeyed further than the wounds’ threshold. In a crazed attempt to escape, Maximus thrashed. His aft rocked and clanged against the wall, the movement dislodging other mechs transfluid that had been trapped inside his valve, “Filthy.” Overlord commented. Not in disgust. A hot, wet glossa lapped over Maximus’s face, “You make a tempting offer.”

_It wasn’t an offer!_  

The split-ends dragged out of position in his ravaged thighs were squeezed. Fresh energon, warm energon drenched Overlord’s hands. Overlord reached up, smeared it into the locks of Maximus’s spark chamber where it mingled with the crusty leftovers of other mech’s fluid. 

Uncontrolled shaking began: the body’s way of modifying laughable sobs into something only slightly less demeaning. 

His spark casing was explored...attacked. Squashed until it restricted his spark’s pulsing and the only way to relieve the suffocating pressing would be to peel apart the cuspid petals of the chamber and exhibit himself. 

“No don’t!” Maximus gasped. The crushing force relented only slightly and Fortress Maximus gulped and bleated and spat all over himself as the terrible rolling tension in his stomach bubbled into his throat.  

“It’s this or Aequitas, Maxy. Or, do you want me to choose for you?”   

Interfacing on Garrus 9 was always terribly one sided. Maximus clung to that fact. He never _wanted_ any of it ,but involving his spark would turn Maximus into a twisted wreck of pleasure. They’d tease out his self-restraint with their teeth and then kick it to a gory death to the harmony of his groans and tormented discharge of his spark. 

There’d be nothing left of him after this. 

By not giving up Aequitas Fortress Maximus knew Overlord had still got what he wanted and Max would just lose everything. 

“Ahh, Ahh _Ah!_ ” Maximus groaned. The cracks in the armour glowed. They ... he couldn’t open them by force, he needed to be tempted. It was a rite of passage, in order to give a sacred part of himself over to someone who was meant to be special and Overlord was happy to oblige. 

“That’s it Maxy,” The inner chamber was unfurling, “I want you to scream. Let everyone know how much you love getting your spark dirty.”  

...

Hands compressed his helm. His own hands. So strong. He wanted to crush out the memory. Across the berth he thrashed. His mind ragged from fear. 

_He’s here! He’s here!_ In the room. 

Touching him. 

In a delirious frenzy of exhaustion and panic Maximus rolled over, imprisoning the shape of his phantoms underneath him. 

He still couldn’t see! He didn’t know where he was or what was happening and his chest felt... 

“Maximus!” Ambulon bleated from under Max’s immovable, trembling body. The heat radiating off his chamber casing was worrying. It burned. The spark inside must have been fizzing like a shaken up bottle of spritzer. 

“Ah-Ambulon?!” Maximus fear was overwhelming. Ambulon clung to him. 

“Yes, your”-

“No! No, no, no you shouldn’t be here. H - H -He’ll see you.” It was like Maximus was trying to curl round Ambulon and cover him completely while his spark still pinged him.

Ambulon readjusted. His flat palms dragging over the spark chamber. Maximus reacted with a howl and undulated, denta gnashing together because he could not withstand another minute of the torture or see Ambulon suffer the same pain. 

“Please, oh please... I _can’t!_ ”

“It’s okay Max! You’re okay. Just breathe slowly, it’ll get better.” Ambulon hurriedly spluttered, attributing half the issue to an excessive core temperature baking Max’s thought processes. 

Maximus shook his head. 

“Nooo, he’s here, he wants... _I can’t!”_

_“_ No one’s here Max. I promise. It’s you and me. We’re on our own.” Ambulon gave the command and the room brightened. 

Maximus’s optics were wide with fear, surprise, relief, regret and so much shame. 

This was his berth in his hab suite. He had his arms and his optics and his legs. His spark chamber, though it rattled, was sealed. 

“It’s okay,” Ambulon caressed and soothed, “You were recharging but it’s okay now.” 

They were alone. Max checked every corner before collapsing over Ambulon.

“I’m sorry, I” Gasps interrupted him. His fans working too quickly. He was inconsolable. Even in the room’s stark light he _felt_ like there was someone there. Breathing down his neck. The nightmare controlled him and he wasn’t strong enough to break free. Wasn’t strong enough... 

“Don’t look at me, don’t!” He ripped himself off Ambulon and hunched on the edge of the breath, hiding his face in one massive hand, curling the other arm round his torso because he was sure all quaking would loosen some bolts.              

Ambulon moved as well. He left the berth and knelt in front of Maximus, watching the behemoth suffer.  

“Calm down Maximus. You can do it. You’re so brave.”

“NO!” Ambulon skittered back. Maximus’s pants turned heavy. “I’m not...I’m not.”  

His spark flared suddenly and Maximus was doubling over, moaning like the slut Overlord accused him of being. 

“Don’t be afraid Max,” Ambulon plucked up the courage to reach out again. He touched Maximus’s knee.

“But I was. I didn’t want to but... I - I couldn’t...couldn’t stop him.” 

Soundless, Ambulon stretched up. He wound his arms round the larger bot’s neck and held him as gently as he possibly could. Pushing forward washes of compassion and understanding through his EM fields while Maximus continued to quiver. Small sounds of misery made his lips tremble.    

“He wouldn’t let me die.” 

An indescribable hurt made Ambulon’s own spark throb. He tried to keep it from entering his EM fields and exchange it with a clear message: that he was sincerely glad Maximus was alive.  


	16. Chapter 16

The lights stayed on that night. Maximus admitted he hated the dark. After being blinded darkness became a mysterious world of pain. Monsters could sneak up on a mech in the pitch black and do terrible things. 

Ambulon, as they sat against the wall, promised there’d be no more nightmares creeping about the room tonight. Then they were quiet. Maximus dwelled in embarrassment. Ambulon sunk into deep thoughts while idly stroking his hands over Maximus’s body, slowly soothing away the trembles in his plating.     

Eventually, as the morning shift approached and they both had places they needed to be, Ambulon dared to broach the subject that had been dancing on his glossa for quite some time.

“I don’t think you should go into work today...” He whispered, accompanying the words with more tender strokes down Max’s body. In that body he felt every ridge and every joint stiffen, unaware that Ambulon exercising his power of Max’s occupation was something Max feared. 

“I have responsibilities.” Maximus rumbled, but he thought of how easily those responsibilities could be offloaded onto someone else working in the cargo bay. His occupation wasn’t specialised.  

“I know, but no one expects you to push yourself. You need time to recover, maybe you should pay Rung a visit,” Evidence suggested that Maximus wanted to pull out of the embrace, “ Or me,” Ambulon added quickly, “ You...you can tell me anything...” 

Fortress Maximus twisted and stared into Ambulon’s sympathetic face.

“You said your job is important to you. So is mine.” 

“Your health is important to me too.” 

Maximus twisted his lips. 

“I have to go, Ambulon. I couldn’t explain to them why I took the day off even if I wanted to.”

“Maybe just the morning then.”

“No.” 

Maximus rolled out of Ambulon’s arms, off the berth and stood while Ambulon forlornly stared. 

Shoulder armature rattled with every heavy vent. The pill bottles he’d scooped off the counter, Max glumly looked at them in his hands. 

“I just...” There was a moment where Maximus regretted speaking, “ I just don’t want them to think I’m different.”      

The melancholy Max blanketed himself with implored Ambulon to his side. Max felt arms siding round his waist and Ambulon pasted himself between the enormous tank-treads.

Maximus shook his proscribed amount of medication into his hand. It looked like nothing, tasted of sawdust and cardboard, he shrugged Ambulon away. 

“I can’t keep hiding...” 

Ambulon’s mouth opened and closed. When he eventually spoke, it wasn’t more reasoning, it was a defeated and submissive,

“Okay.” 

 

 

It wasn’t too late to turn around. Maximus loitered outside the cargo bay, fists curled, gasping and gulping. 

As much as he wanted to lock himself in his habitation suite Maximus pushed himself into the room. A few people greeted him, he nodded back, neck stiff with tension. Every foot step felt long and heavy as he journeyed to his station. There was a datapad listing today’s operations waiting for him. He read it, only half attentive to the details. His mind was being cruel, jeering at him for letting the Bastard Overlord make use of his spark. A spark he no longer had the privilege of sharing with anyone else. He’d ruined his own future.

Hands tightened round the datapad. Spark trembled in misery. 

He couldn’t afford to think of this now! 

He was fine. He had a job to do! He could stack the shelves, he could walk. He was fine. He could take instructions, listen, _concentrate._ He was fine... tired but functional. At least until he heard _that_ sound. 

A buzz. 

No...

No. He’d imagined it. The cargo hold was vast, the _sound_ could have been anything but... 

It revved into life again, the angry grinding scream of a gyro blade. And it was close. 

The datapad was shaken out of his hands.

It clattered to the floor. A few optics drifted to him as a diversion from the twisted sound. 

His startled EM field lashed angrily about his body, the sound being associated with the hellish memory of Garrus-9 - his mind braced for anything and dread chilled his core. 

And then the source was revealed: Whirl and a chainsaw. 

The same on he’d removed from the storage closest without permission, it was swinging between his claws. 

“VvVVVRRRRUmmmVrumVrRRrrrummm rum rum.” Whirl was playing pretend. The  bot’s manning the cargo hold were giving him weary glances. Whirl didn’t care. 

Maximus couldn’t take his optics off the blade. He remembered its kin lancing his armour, flaying wires and circuitry. He remembered the pain...and the fear.   
Whirl skipped closer...too close. He was leering and jittering and made eye contact.

“How are you settling in Maxy?” He chirped. At once Maximus broke contact. He sunk down and collected the datapad.

“Hmm?” 

Whirl was still advancing. The saw swung carelessly around. Crouched on the floor it was nearly level with Max’s neck. He stood sharply, towering above Whirl, who of course remained completely unfazed, “Don’t be rude...” 

His claw engaged the saw, its engine rumbled and Maximus flinched back, his treads contacted with a unit of shelves and rattled the metal frame work, which made him limb forward again, back into the vicinity of the saw.  

He felt trapped. 

Stop! Whirl needed to stop, or be stopped. Maximus... he, he was supposed to be working. 

But trying to out maneuver the flexibly ex-wrecker wasn’t possible. Each way he turned Whirl blocked his path. 

_Why was he doing this_! The saw was too close, _too slagging close_. Maximus’s fans switched to an apprehensive hum, the sound stirred a tingle in Whirl’s chaotic energy fields. 

“Are you alright, Maximus?” Hoist asked. His _boss_ was here and Maximus hadn’t even noticed him come over. 

“Yeah, Max, are you okay, you’re looking a little peaky.”

Whirl raised into the tips of his peds and leered into Maximus’s startled face, his weight and the weight of the chain precariously balanced.

“Stay the frag away from me.” 

Whirl hooted and skipped about. That reaction was exciting! All the commotion was attracting more and more attention and Fort Max was being crippled under it. _Go away!_  

No one intervened. A part of Max grimly remembered the betting pool... no! He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction - the saw was swung forward, this time directly at Max. 

He leapt back again and hit the same tower of shelves. Someone said his name but he couldn’t look away from Whirl. Not when he was so close with _that thing._

“Put. It. Down.” He growled with more despair in his voice than rage.  

“Why? Does it bother you...Maxy?”

Maximus didn’t know what he was doing, when the blade revved into life again he just _acted._

 

Ambulon had been tending to some routine management procedures when the emergency call sounded. Soon after Ratchet was returning with Whirl groaning on a medical trolly. 

_No known weaknesses my aft!_ Ambulon mirthfully thought as he continued about his business, only half attentive to Ratchet’s tribulations. 

“Whirl lie still!” 

The stupid fool had had his face punched in... nearly squashed. The glass of his optic had been shattered as had the glass of his canopy - like a very big fist had been put through it. Fortunately, Whirl’s attitude remained unabashed. He nattered feverishly at Ratchet.

“You shoulda seen it Doc’!” Ratchet wheeled Whirl further into the middle of the medical bay, “There I was, jus’ being friendly and the nut case when mental, said some crazy slag about wanting to rip out my waste port and feed it down my throat. I’d like to see him try!” 

Ratchet was working as hard to fix Whirl as he was to maintain his stoic silence. Ambulon was content to not get involved unless asked. That was, until Hoist hurried into the medical bay. 

“Can’t find him.” He sounded out of breath. Like he’d been rushing all over the ship and in a rather frantic fashion too if his ventilations were any indication. Ambulon frowned, his hands clenching utensils, not totally distracted but, as Hoist continued...

“Checked his hab suite and Swerve’s, the observation deck and a few other places. Any ideas Ratch? He’s not the hardest person to find...” 

“When he left the cargo hold, what was his condition?”

“Better than Whirl’s.”

“HEY! You should’ve let me have him. We’d have gone toe to toe. Leg guns or no leg guns I could take ‘im!” 

Ambulon set aside what he was doing. Concern setting in like a hot itch. Whirl’s bickering didn’t leave much to the imagination. Whatever had happened Ambulon was certain he’d be in need of defusing the situation. After all, who else could cause that kind of damaged to Whirl and stagger off unaffected. 

Concern changed into anxiety. 

Ambulon vigilantly packed away his utensils while listening to Hoist go on once Whirl was taking a break from being a fragging nuisance.

“ Bashed his hands up pretty bad I’d say, got a nasty nick from the saw when he grabbed at it.” 

Ambulon expression pinched. 

A saw.

Not asking for permission, Ambulon crossed the room. Ratchet watched. He’d been twiddling with Whirl’s optic operations when he spotted his only other attending calmly approach the door. 

A frown began, then something in his mind slotted the pieces together the moment he heard Ambulon’s steady pace transform into a frantic sprint once he stepped outside the medical bay.   

Systems expelled a sigh. 

“Check the security cameras. Comm. Ambulon, tell him Max willl need to come in for a check up when he finds him.” 

 

It was instinct and many deductions performed simultaneously that led Ambulon to the washracks. Hoist said the hab suite was empty, the night Brainstorm had dragged him out of recharge Ambulon remembered Max looking like he’d taken a dip in a lake. 

He hesitated near the entrance, to catch his breath. Ambulon stared into the room of sterile white tiles and neatly spaced booths, only one of which was occupied. 

Wisps of steam and the sound of solvent jetting over metal lured Ambulon forward. 

Cautiously, Ambulon transversed the room. He kept his footsteps light, feeling like he was walking on glass. 

He peeped into the occupied cubical with discretion, he wanted to be certain it was Maximus brooding inside before he slipped in as well. 

Ambulon’s shadow swept over Maximus. 

He was sitting in a puddle on the floor. Liquid collecting in the dips of his plating. The jet stream rushing from the shower head was a miserably lukewarm. Too cold to be comforting, too warm to be cleansing. 

Maximus stared up at Ambulon, optics hooded with conflict. 

Ambulon’s face twisted with empathy and he joined Max in the cubical. 

“Say it. Say you were right.” Maximus gasped. Voice raw with turmoil. 

“Why would I say that Max?” 

“Because I’ve fragged everything up! _Again!”_

Ambulon started to shake his head. Maximus grimaced, slowly curling in on himself, hands, broken with fresh wounds, gripped his legs. 

The solvent splashed when Ambulon sank to his knees in front of Maximus. Fort Max deliberately avoided Ambulon’s pained stare. 

“Tell me what happened Max?” 

Maximus debated the question, ridiculing every second leading up to the event, rolling his cracked lips under his denta. 

“I don’t _know!”_ All he’d seen was anger personified and he’d let it get the better of him,  “He was just so fragging close with that damn saw I didn’t... I didn’t think!” Maximus scrubbed his hands over his face. In his palm was a deep gash, spliced open by the toothed blade of the saw. The wound still leaked, Max spread his energon over his face plate unknowingly and the torrent from above slowly started washing it away.

“Hey.” Ambulon grasped at Maximus’s hands, bringing them away from his face. It didn’t stop Maximus from trying to shrink under his treads, “Don’t worry about this Max. It wasn’t your fault.” 

“I couldn’t stop myself...”

Ambulon inched closer, still holding onto Max’s hands. Now they were both caught under the shower.  

“You were provoked.”

“I slagging hate him! He fragging ruined my life!” 

Was this still about Whirl? Ambulon swallowed his question, he had a feeling the conversation had moved on. There was anger in Max’s energy fields. A dangerous bitterness was over coming him and Ambulon struggled under the burden of it. 

“Max” - The hands he’d been gently holding tightening into fists. Energon bloomed at the breaches in his knuckles. Ambulon’s spark skipped.

“I wish I’d never woken up from that coma.” 

Hurt stung Ambulon’s spark.

“Why?!” He couldn’t stop himself from squealing, leaning up and forward. Gaze pleading and wounded. Fort Max looked ready to start a war, his internal feuds projected. 

“Because you saw what he did to me!” The room suddenly turned very quiet. Ambulon gulped down trepidation with Max’s rage. Maximus broke contact and dragged his hands over his spark casing, “How could anyone possibly recover from that?!” Depression overcame his anger. Maximus hunched forward, now clinging to Ambulon, “I’m trying, Ambulon, but I just keep screwing everything up. I can’t help it.”    

Ambulon held onto the body trembling against his. It was more than just the effect of freezing cold water seeping between their plating. Maximus was as afraid as he was angry , Ambulon felt it in his EM fields. 

“It’s okay.” Ambulon whispered, “It’s okay, it’ll get better. I promise.”

“And if it doesn’t?” The question left Max in shaky huffs. Ambulon pressed his face to Maximus’s helm and breathed steadily. 

“Then you’ll always have me to look after you.” 

There was a disturbance in Maximus’s systems. A brief stall. Then Ambulon felt large hands dragging up his back, pressing him closer to Max’s cold body. He gripped what he could reach, exventing heavily when he felt Maximus bury his face between Ambulon’s neck and shoulder. 

“It’s okay, Max, we’ll fix this. You’ll be fine.” 


	17. Chapter 17

Ambulon’s promise rattled round his head the next day when was Maximus caged in Rung’s office. 

_You’ll be fine._

He needed to convince Rung to share that confidence... but it wasn’t going well.

Rung had acquired a copy of the security feed surveying the Cargo Bay at the time of ‘the incident’. He’d downloaded the footage onto a data pad and presented it to Maximus. Rung held onto his own data pad, it contained a copy too. They were reviewing the video together, working through Max’s day _together_ , frame by frame they watched Whirl approach, swing the chainsaw and had seen Max react. Yet, despite this _obviously_ being a provoked attack Maximus was still being treated like a criminal.  

“Maximus?” Rung called him back to the conversation. He’d lost himself again. The lack of recharge was taking its tole. Last night he’d barely slept. He was too nervous and his processor was working too fast, mainly it focused on reiterating what an idiot he’d been to lash out. 

Again. 

Groaning, Max scrubbed a hand over his weary face and looked from the frozen image of himself jabbing his fist into Whirl’s optic to Rung. 

This was the second time they’d reviewed the video. The first time Rung had requested they watch in silence. But it wasn’t quiet, the sound of the chainsaw rang out from the data pad, it was distorted by the tinny quality of the inbuilt speakers but it still _terrified_ Maximus to a point where his hands started to shiver. He couldn’t let Rung see that and so reshuffled his weight on the berth.

Rung was seated beside him, his eyebrows crunched into a concerned ‘V’. 

“Yes, Rung?”

“I asked, what was it about yesterday that was so upsetting for you?”

_Upsetting_ Rung made it sound like he was sparkling having another temper tantrum. Why should he have to justify how he reacted?! It was Whirl, it was all Whirl and-

“I think it should be pretty obvious!” Maximus tried not to snarl. But the tension   behind his voice made Rung lean back. His anger was exhausting. “Or would you react differently if some lunatic came at you with a chainsaw?” 

Maximus glared at Rung and watched his therapists lips curl.   

“Everyone copes with stress in different ways. Whirl made you feel trapped and you lashed out.”

“He _threatened_ me! Primus dammit, he should be sitting here! Not me!” 

“Until he is repaired Whirl has been confined to the medical bay. Maximus, please, help me, if we start talking these things through then perhaps we can begin to make some real progress and eventually, Ultra Magnus will be willing to appoint you a new job.” Rung’s was still speaking when Maximus’s cut in.

“New job, what’s wrong with the one I have now?” Max didn’t know why he asked. He supposed he wanted to hear his fears spoken aloud so there could be no confusion. Rung stumbled a little, his jaw slackening and his expression became glum. Like he was _sorry_ for what he was about to say. 

“I assumed someone would’ve already told you...” Rung’s spark felt heavy. From Fort Max’s perspective it looked like Rung was frustrated that the burden had fallen on his shoulders. 

“Tell me what?” Maximus snapped, but he _knew_ he already, he knew, he was just hoping that, by some miracle, he was wrong. 

“Max... because of the _incident_ Ultra Magnus has revoked your license to work aboard the ship.”

“On what grounds?!” Maximus was nearly shouting. Rung gave him a look - it said that Max knew exactly why he’d been suspended and that these questions were the equivalent to self-harm. But Max wanted to know!  

“Health and safety. Your own health and safety...as well as everyone else’s. Fortress Maximus, you’ve been very fortunate, the penalty for transgressions like this is normally time in the brig.” 

Maximus chewed on his lip, tension turned his frame rigid.

“And what about Whirl, what does he get?” 

“Whirl will be reprimanded.” 

“Whirl _threatened_ me!” 

“Under circumstances you shouldn’t have been a part of in the first place!” Rung spoke up. He was very stern, despite all his size and strength Fortress Maximus was momentarily stricken. The little psychiatrist could be very compelling when he got serious. Maximus hunched over on the berth, his ventilations gasping. _This wasn’t fair! “_ Maximus no one is more... _familiar_ with mech’s desires to ‘get better’ than me, but enthusiasm, while it is incredibly helpful, can also be detrimental to a patient’s recuperation if implemented wrongly.” Fortress Maximus let the length of some of those words wash over him, “ But this... desire, this need to rush back into an occupation has come along very suddenly and I think I know why.” Maximus cast Rung a glower filled with unspoken warning. Rung flexed his throat tubing and continued anyway, gathering momentum, “ It’s your need to impress Ambulon. Are you afraid of losing him? Or, is it because knowing that he was responsible for putting you back together means he knows _everything_ that was done to you at the hands of the Decepticons? And is that knowledge pressuring you to prove that you’re stronger than what you appeared? That you’re not the weakness Ambulon would’ve seen lying on a medical slab at Delphi.” 

Maximus ventilation hitched. _Frag! Shut up! Just stop!_ Max’s reaction was to hunch further forward on the slab, his hands leaving impressions in the metal, Rung latched onto the break in his defenses. 

“Max,” He leaned forward and said softly, “Is he making you do things you...don’t want to do?”

Maximus head jerked up, he angrily searched Rung’s expression and Rung gazed back, his face full of compassion and concern and Maximus had to remind himself that this was Rung’s _job;_ he was there to strip Maximus to his root issues and leave him vulnerable to dissection. 

In his lap, Rung’s hands twitched like he wanted to reach out and console. 

“Max...you don’t have to do _anything_ you don’t want to. The only person you need to worry about is yourself. You will get healthy but you’ll do it at your own pace and that goes for everything, work, socialising... interfacing... Sometimes a little _push_ can be good but...”     

The conversation paused. Maximus swallowed thickly, his face was tired and worn. 

“Sometimes our partners can trick us, when we’re feeling infirm, into thinking what they want is what we want too, and that’s wrong Maximus, it’s called taking advantage and you can talk to me about it... it’s nothing to be ashamed of. 

Do you feel like you’re being pushed into things? 

 

_Hmmm, that’s it Maxy, come here. Get on your knees._

 

Is he threatening you with walking out? With leaving?

_A large hand supported his face and guided him forward._

 

Is he making you feel trapped?”

 

_Mmmm! Suck it. Harder!_

_The hand compressing his helm forced him further onto the thrusting spike._

“No. Not Ambulon.” 

Rung was unaware of the memories his descriptions triggered. The situation: being tricked into pleasuring the Phase-Sixer in exchange for the survival of his own mechs. Not their safety, just the elongation of their pained existence. Several of them had been in the room, restrained by other malicious ‘cons while they were turned into voyeurs and made to watch the display. 

And Rung expected him to _talk_ about these terrible things? _How?!_

Frustration was burrowing under his plating and collecting in his circuits.

“Are you certain? You’re both mechs with needs and I understand his opinions are important to you. Making him happy...is that important to you to?”

Maximus pictured the smaller mech’s face when they interfaced. 

“Y-Yes.” 

“It needs to be a mutual thing and I’m not convinced it is...” Rung gestured to the data pad and the image of Max punching Whirl, “This is not the reaction of a contented mech.”

Until then Maximus hadn’t realised how much the conversation was effecting him. He was hot and shaky all over but more than that, he couldn’t seem to stop confusing Ambulon with the horrid presence of emptiness carved inside him by Overlord and his over exuberant use of Maximus’s body. In total, the experience was upturning the queasiness in Maximus stomach. He wanted to get out. Now! 

But Rung was blocking the exit. Thriving off titillation derived from Maximus pained expressions.

“I’m _sorry_ I struck out at Whirl! But the slagger deserved it! I was fine! I am _fine.”_

_“_ Will you let me stop you there?” Maximus straightened up, his whole body tightening as if he was being twisted into a knot. Rung took the lack of deterrence as permission to continue, “ Nobody deserves to be beaten. Some times we might feel that way but it is wrong to lash out at others and cause them physical harm.”

Yes, yes it is wrong, Maximus looked down at his hands, intact, through optics, intact. 

“Maximus?” Rung swooped into his vision, not crowding him but reminding Max of where to focus his attention, “I’d like to hear you say it, please, say that you know causing damage is unacceptable. Functioning mechs do not harm each other.” 

“I was built to harm people!” Maximus barked, “We were at war, I was given a gun sooner than I was given an alt-mode. I was made to defend the Autobot cause, no matter the cost...I just never realised that cost would be everything!” His distress fortified Rung’s theory of instability, “It has nothing to do with A-Ambulon or... or... I just want to feel like myself again!” He turned to Rung with the beginnings of a plea hanging off his glossa, “But now you’re telling me that going back to who I was is unacceptable so I’m left with this and I _hate_ it. Because I’m useless like this and everything feels so out of control like it did...like it did,” ” He saw Rung make quick notes, no doubt a reference to self-loathing scribbled down somewhere. The sounds of his voice left him in a sigh. The helplessness he felt on Garrus-9 returned to him. The inability to grasp and pull control back to him, being taunted with freedom and having it stolen from him by vicious Decepticons or a malicious Autobot. It was the same slag just on a different day, the same struggle. 

“You will never be useless, Fortress.” Rung was so calm, so reassured by his own words. But it wasn’t enough to cradle Fortress Maximus. 

“I was useless. I watched as _he_ made them suffer because I believed that protecting the Aequitas and the Autobot cause was more important than their _lives._ I had no right! I forfeited their lives and all my loyalty, all my devotion it was rewarded with three years” _Two months and ten days,_ “Of misery that I still can’t escape from because fragger’s like him,” He thrust his finger are Whirl’s grainy image on the data pad, “Keep stirring up slag for me!” 

Rung let him marinate in the weight of his words. Maximus breathed, it was all he was capable of doing. 

“You are still looking for someone to blame.” 

Rung was right, at first it was Prowl. Damn Prowl who left him to rot! He still blamed Prowl and every other fragger who sat back and did _nothing._ But Prowl wasn’t here so he pushed his anger elsewhere. Better to project it onto someone who deserved it than Ambulon or himself... 

“W-What are you writing?” The glaze over his concentration lifted. Maximus saw Rung was writing down more notes. The small bot sighed. 

“This has been a very informative session. You’re doing remarkably well, the fact that you’re willing to share more than you ever have proves how important stability in your life is to you. You want to get better Max, I know you do, which is why I’m explicitly marking in my evaluation for Ultra Magnus that I believe your mental health will improve over time. However, from now on, any decisions regarding your occupancy should be clarified through me. I know that might seem unfair but, it will save you from this sort of thing happening again. Next time you push for a job you will have my full support, but only when you have my support will you push for a job. Understand? In the long term, I promise you will benefit from it.”

In the long term...

“How long is that?”

“Maximus... you know that’s not a question I can answer. It depends on you...  without this whole situation you might have been much further along in your treatment.”

“If it wasn’t for Whirl I wouldn’t even be having his conversation.”

Rung swallowed and was silent. 

“Why the frag was he even there! There’s nothing for him in the cargo bay and you saw the way he came at me,” Max shook his data pad, “It was almost like he’d planned to cause trouble! It doesn’t make any fragging sense.” Unless... _of course!_ the betting pool. 

Maximus’s power plant rumbled, it was a dark sound, like poorly contained violence desperate to explode out. 

“But what I’m trying to tell you Max is that, no matter how much provocation there is lashing out is wrong... not only that but you didn’t just strike him once! You kept on hitting him. You were intent on causing serious damage. That’s the behaviour of someone who has been bottling up a lot of stress issues. If not Whirl then the chances are you would have attacked someone else...maybe even without any provocation. And what happens if it was Ambulon...or dare I even say myself?” 

“I - I, NO! Stop it!” 

“Maximus I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. I’m just trying to make you see that if not Whirl it would have been someone else and then you might not have had the excuse of being provoked to rationalise the actions you undertook and save you from the guilt.”

Was Rung trying to say he was dangerous to be around? No, no! This wasn’t his fault! Ambulon said! Ambulon told him this wasn’t his fault so why was he being treated like a criminal. He was a prison warden, he was trained to put away criminals. 

Except...he wasn’t a prison warden anymore. He wasn’t even capable of roleplaying a crane.

“ENOUGH! I’VE HAD ENOUGH!” The datapad shattered in his grasp. 

“Alright! Alright Max, you’re right, no more, we’ll move on.” Rung squeaked hands lifting almost like he was trying to catch Maximus as he rose.

“NO! No more talking! I’m done!” 

There was chaos in his head. It was as tiring as his lack of rest. But, like his need for rest, Maximus didn’t think he’d be finding any relief soon. 

 


	18. Chapter 18

Ambulon’s processor ached. Another night without recharge, another day shift in the medical bay. He was working alongside Ratchet today. Good. He couldn’t bare First Aid. 

Sometimes in their hab suite, although they maintained a mutual silence most nights, but sometimes First Aid’s prickly energy field would brush against his own. It was the kind of spark that fueled explosions and Ambulon couldn’t deal with that kind of threat lingering about him in the work place. He was trying to be professional, he was trying to -

“So what have I got to do to get the good meds, suck your spike?” 

Ambulon’s optics flared. He’d been immersed in his notes so, surely, he must have misheard. 

“I’m sorry what?” 

Jackpot was lying on the medical slap. His face was coiled into a tight wince but plastered over that wince was a leer. Ambulon knew he was in quite a bit of pain, it was a common side effect for mechs who ruptured a fuel line near their tanks. Right now, Jackpot felt like his insides were eroding because of a pH imbalance. None fatal in Cybertronians if the leakage was drained quickly. Presently, Jackbot was hooked up to a number of tubules  attaching him to drainage systems. But that didn’t void the pain of damage already caused. 

“I said...” Jackpot’s wriggled on the berth. His optics dimmed and he dropped his head like he was playing the naughtiest pinup model for every raunchy movie ever made, “Whatever I got to do to get the good stuff... I’ll do it.” And with that his hand lazily flopped off the berth, stretched out and stroked over the back of Ambulon’s thigh. 

Immediately, Ambulon stepped back. Subtle enough not to encourage a disturbance but his expression was obviously livid for Jackpot to see. 

“Stop being ridiculous. There are no better meds and if you try anymore games like that I will report you.” Safely out of reach Ambulon focused his burning stare on his clipboard. 

“Aw come on Doc, ’m in agony here, don’t hold out on me. What’s wrong, am I not your type?”

The air Ambulon expired took with it the dregs of his self-control. 

“What are you implying?” 

A smirk. A greedy, knowing, maddening _smirk_.   

“I thought all your patients got a little...special treatment.” And a wink.   

“Sit tight Jackpot, you’ll be ready for discharge by the end of the shift.” 

Ambulon secured the clipboard to the end of his berth and began marching away. 

“Aw come on! Please, it actually really hurts! I was only teasing!” 

No, he wasn’t. Ambulon thought angrily as he paced into his office and closed the door tightly behind him. He rested his helm on the cool glass, his hands still hovering over the lock controls. 

He shouldn’t be in here, there was nothing he needed except time to calm down. If Ratchet caught him he’d say Ambulon was _slacking._

But...but

[ _Power Levels: 17%_ ]

Ambulon made a weak sound. 

It wasn’t just gossip. First Aid wasn’t making up stories to hurt him, people thought... 

Ambulon strength was displaced some more. Everyone in the waiting room, everyone on the berths, did they all think he was taking advantage of his patient? Not _his_ patient, First Aid’s patient. But that didn’t matter to them. 

Ambulon was a terrible medic in practice. Most doctors would see a damaged mech like Fortress Maximus and give him support, medicine, impartial advice. Ambulon just lured the mech into his berth. 

But it was what Maximus _wanted_! His interfacing equipment might have been suffering but Maximus told him wanted that particular kind of closeness that interfacing gave. The deep connection. But Max could never form the deep connection - his hardwire cables with teeming was parasitic malware, eager to begin breeding in a new host. Transfluid, lubricants, energon, software connections they were prohibited exchanges. Ambulon tried to invent new ways to help and all he’d succeeded in doing was making a mockery of something that was going to be private and intimate and special for Maximus. 

Ambulon gasped quietly. Denta gritted together as he struggled to keep in control of his turbulent energies. 

Why couldn’t people just mind they’re own business?! He hated that he always had to fight to prove his integrity. Ambulon was a good doctor and he was good to Fortress Maximus so why did he feel like he was being punished?

He couldn’t blame them for being suspicious of him, Ambulon tried to reason. But having it smeared in his face was repulsive. 

_Frag._ Ambulon shuddered. 

He needed to return to work but his legs felt weak and his hands weren’t steady and all because of a few words. It was better to hide in here, and let the venom and distress drain out of him system where no one could see. If the Autobot’s knew how much their banter effected him it would only give them satisfaction. 

... the Autobots... was he regarding himself as a separate entity now? Was it really them verses him. 

He couldn’t allow this to happen. This was his home! All he’d ever wanted was to be accepted, as much as he may not have made that obvious Ambulon existence revolved round other people. He might have been quiet, introverted some might say, but working as part of a gestalt, becoming a medic it was all part of his natural disposition to serve others. 

If said other’s stopped treating him equally what would his purpose be then? 

This...this was dangerous thinking. Ambulon needed to get back to work. 

Although he was still feeling unbalance, Jackpot still needed treatment and so did all his other patients. All this _hiding_ was putting him behind schedule. Putting his issues behind him, Ambulon drew up to his full height and prepared to confront the medical bay under the disguise of his normal, neutral self. 

Instead he got an unpleasant surprise. 

Beyond the door were sounds of catastrophe and Ambulon dashed out forgetting not to look aghast. Ready for anything and nothing at the same time. 

Across the room Jackpot had seemingly flung himself from the berth, which had rolled into the middle of the room and knocked some of the other wheeled apparatus askew. He limped about, groaning and grasping at his aching stomach and the thick tube extending from his middle. The apparatus responsible for drawing fluids out of his systems was dragged along behind him.

Other patients, the ones seated in the waiting area, stared.

“What’s goin’ on I can’t see!” Whirl cawed from his berth in a far corner of the room. When he was quiet, Whirl had gone relatively unnoticed, but as soon as his claws started flailing it was hard not to give him attention. Even though Whirl was desperately bored he did not dare to peel off the dense covering pasted over his recently repaired optic. 

With so much happening instinct took over.

Ambulon darted across the room, grievances aside, he wanted to help Jackbot. 

“Hurts Doc.” The mech grumbled as Ambulon steered his patient and his berth back into position. Ambulon wasn’t feeling humble enough to respond. He was scowling deeply when Ratchet appeared. 

“What’s all the noise! Why’s he on his feet?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Ambulon retorted, Ratchets poor timing always irked him. 

Sadly, not answering Jackpot worked out badly for Ambulon. Jackpot redirected his moaning at Ratchet, who he hoped would be more understanding. 

“My insides! They’re killin’ me and this slagger’s holding out on the good stuff I know it!” 

“That _Slagger_ is your physician.” Ratchet was scary when it came to matters of respect. He loomed above Jackpot with a thunderous look of disapproval. Ambulon quietly rearranged his patient and ensured all the apparatus was returned to a comfortable operating state. 

“I know, I know but he won’t listen!” 

Ratchet was looking at him as he fussed about. Ambulon felt his stare. Primus, give him strength! 

“Well, that’s his judgment.” 

Ambulon knew what that meant, he could feel the impending difference of opinion crashing toward him like an avalanche. Ambulon wanted to avoid it. He turned sharply and reached for his board of charts marking up Jackpot’s condition but before he could grab it Ratchet snatched the notes away and began reviewing them like he hadn’t just robbed Ambulon of his patient. 

Ambulon stood and watched as Ratchet flicked through his analyses. Helpless.

With a tension coiling in his gut Ambulon waited for ridicule. 

The light of the clipboard flickered over Ratchet’s face. He was studying everything thoroughly and Ambulon knew there’d be _something_ in his findings that wasn’t up to scratch. 

But Ratchet surprised him. 

“Hmm.” 

Ambulon flinched. 

What? Was that it?

Ratchet hooking the clipboard back into the edge of Jackpot’s berth. Next he was walking away. But that _sound_ ; that obscure, judgmental, second guessing _grunt_. It tortured Ambulon’s processor. 

He grabbed his notes and hastily started reviewing them. What would Ratchet be doing? What could be done better?

Jackpot let out a particularly loud whine that had been brewing in his vocal components for sometime. 

[ _Power Levels: 16%_ ] 

Frag it, he’ll just give Jackbot the damn meds. The ones he claimed didn’t exist. 

Storming toward the medicine cabinet with his key card ready, Ambulon was working out the dosage in his head. Enough to knock Jackbot into a state of delirious bliss, not enough to knock up unconscious. 

“You’re going back on your judgment?” Ratchet spoke over his shoulder as Ambulon’s hands were rooting around inside the cupboard. 

Ambulon flinched and turned rigid. Anger and stress squeezing his spark. He could feel Ratchet’s calm vents brushing over his back. The slagger had been watching him. 

Ambulon’s hand curled round the slender shape of the bottle. Morphenite, it was called. There were six other bottles like it on the shelf. 

He lifted the bottle... then tapped it back down firmly. 

“No.” He turned to Ratchet and said, a straight-faced shielding the contorted mess of distress and bubbling irritation festering inside him, “It’d be a waste of medicine. Jackpot’s a big ‘bot, the drainage procedure will be done in an hour or so, he can wait.”

With that he roughly locked the cabinet, brushed past Ratchet and retreated into his office where Ambulon felt safe. 

 

 

_“I’m willing to offer you your old medication plan back. It might be beneficial to you.”_

_“No.”_

_“Maximus, did it occur to you that the reason you’re feeling more stressed now is because the medication is no longer regulating your moods?”_

_“I said I don’t need it. I’m fine. I’m fine Rung.”_

_Lair!_

A very stern reprove sounded in his head. It was his own voice turned against him and Max could not block it out. He cowered in his hab suite, hot and shaky, staring at the empty pill bottles lined on his berth-side counter. 

_Empty_

Oh Primus what had he done? Why had he done it?

He was feeling light headed but was that because of consumption or just the feeling of being overwhelmed? And still he felt like he needed more. Because he was stretched too thinly, the medication put some substance to him as he tried to induce euphoria and shield himself from the demonic presence hanging over him. 

He needed, oh Primus he needed. But he couldn’t accept Rung’s offer. It felt dirty, like he was failing. Moving backward when he should have been pushing forward. 

Go at your own pace, Rung said, but that wasn’t fast enough for Maximus. He had to keep pushing. But how this equated to progress he didn’t know. 

He brushed his hands over his helm and held his breath, trying to differentiate between madness and the effect of the tablets. 

What was he going to do tomorrow and the day after and the day after that? His pill bottles were empty. How much worse would things get without the medicine? 

He was so...afraid. 

Afraid to admit he’d screwed up. He couldn’t ask Rung for help, the psychologist would view this in a very negative light indeed. 

Ambulon...Ambulon would know what to do. But how would he react to this lapse? What would he say? Max felt stranded. It didn’t matter. Max needed to figure this out, and soon, before his conflicted processor ruined itself. 

 

 

 

 

 [Power Levels: 9%]

The shower stalls were quiet. Just the sound of solvent jetting at the far end of the room. The clear stream gushed over his body, seeping between every crevice and cleansing deeply, but not deep enough. The liquid trickled between his thighs, snaked down his legs and pattered onto the solid white floor beneath him before washing away down the plug hole. 

A spot of energon hit the stream, it’s pinkish glow spreading and thinning until it was swept down the drain. Then another spot hit and another then the scalpel clattered to the floor. 

Ambulon threw his head back, beating it against the side of the shower cubicle. Hissing, he compressed his hands over the small nick inside his thigh. 

Why did he do that?

He was being so fragging stupid! 

But... 

He whimpered. He’d cut into a place he knew would be well hidden, where the circuitry was particularly sensitive but not vital. He hadn’t forgotten the sting that crept up his legs from the last time he done this. 

Primus he was so ashamed. 

This wasn’t him! Not anymore. Why couldn’t he pull himself together? Was the burden of being misunderstood driving him to this or was he just waiting to get caught? Did he want sympathy or attention? Or did he just want all the slagging critics aboard this ship to _leave him the frag alone_?! 

Ambulon groaned, he teeth gritted together so tightly they ached. 

He didn’t want any of this, but he felt like he deserved the pain. 

He’d used Fortress Maximus. 

Whether he’d been aware of it or not, the argument of what was appropriate between a doctor and patient get digging at him. Ambulon couldn’t ignore it and he was revolted by his own conclusions. 

Although he kept on fighting to find solutions, Ambulon was constantly met be walls of loathing.  A thought in the back of his processor was brewing. Each time his exploration of the maze he was trapped in failed to find an exit the thought he kept trying to avoid got more and more viable. 

_You need to end what you have with Maximus._

It was the only way to keep them both sane. 

He’d be Max’s friend. Of course he would. But anything beyond that needed to be stopped as much as it would pain Ambulon. It was sensible, it was reasonable and by Primus it would hurt them both so much. Maximus wouldn’t understand, he’d feel like Ambulon was abandoning him, which was why the self inflicted wound cut into Ambulon’s thigh felt deserved. 

The irritation pulled in his groin with every step he took back to the hab suite. It kept him distracted. Nanites had already clotted the wound. Ambulon could walk without giving any indication that there was something horribly wrong. But then he turned a corner. Fort Max lingering outside his hab suite and Ambulon’s energy fields quivered in turmoil. 

Fort Max gazed at him, his stare was heated and raw and Ambulon’s spark trembled. 

“M-Ax.” He tried to say but his vocal components were seized by emotion.

“Where’ve you been?” The sound of his voice, the deep reverb, shook Ambulon’s armour. Max’s shadow swallowed him, and Ambulon wanted to, right there and then, reach out and just hold onto _something._ As if Max was his life-line.

Instead he led the way into the dark hab suite. Thankfully First Aid wasn’t home. He must have been working a shift.  

“Where were you?” Max asked again, this time he was more demanding. 

“Wash racks.” Ambulon sounded almost guilty, Max couldn’t guess why. 

A silence stretched between them, in which Ambulon was alerted to the convulsive stutters of Maximus’s cooling systems.

“I went to see Rung today.” It sounded like Maximus was trying to make the action seem voluntary, but Ambulon knew otherwise. 

“Oh, how’d it go?”  

The gears in Max’s vocal processors clenched. He looked up, away from Ambulon, his optics screwing shut. Ambulon exhaled, he didn’t need an answer to understand. 

“They’re calling me a hazard!” The snarl Max held back turned into a powerful rumble of his engines. At his sides, Ambulon watched Maximus clench his fists. “And Whirl’s getting off lightly, as usual. It makes me so fragging _sick!_ ”

“I’m sorry, Max.” 

“What have you got to be sorry for?” Max asked sharply and Ambulon grimaced, _nothing yet._ “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” As he sighed Maximus sat down on First Aid’s berth, bringing his hands up to his face. 

Ambulon took a wary step forward, he could feel Maximus ventilations spreading a ghostly warmth over his plating. 

“Max I”- 

Maximus stretched out a hand and without thinking Ambulon accepted the gesture. Soon he was being drawn close, Maximus’s hand was shifting to his waist and the scent of polish and simmering dust filled Ambulon’s senses. 

He was weak. Ambulon’s mind told him. He couldn’t resist the feeling of being clung to. Maximus hands spread over his body, finger tips pressing into areas filled with tension. Ambulon made a gasping sound. There was something inside him warning him not to get drawn into the yearning warmth of Fortress Maximus but their mouths were already so close, slightly parted. Maximus’s panted vents clouded Ambulon’s thoughts. This meeting was supposed to serve a purpose and yet Ambulon’s motor functions defied his conscience. Hesitantly, he accepted Maximus when the larger mech kissed him. Inside his chest, his spark quivered. Maximus pushed into him with urgency, Ambulon sighed, the tension in his body releasing even as inner conflict brewed. 

Ambulon kissed back, desperately, hands reaching up and grasping Maximus’s helm, crushing their mouths together and he heard Max grunt with satisfaction, then slip his tongue between Ambulon’s lips, encouraging something deeper. It shattered Ambulon’s defense, all the hurt and lust and confusion pooled in his EM fields adding to the charge growing between them.    

A low moan rumbling out of Fort Max and straight into Ambulon. When had they become so inescapably close? Maximus hands were everywhere, keeping Ambulon pinned against him. 

He licked a strand of fluid off Ambulon’s parted lips and leaned back, his optics flickering as they roamed over Ambulon’s trembling body.   

Ambulon realised he was trapped in the predicament he’d hoped to resolve and felt defeated. As Maximus’s hand reached further than his aft and began rubbing between his thighs Ambulon was terrified he’d discovered the raised mound of self repair clotted over his self-inflicted wound. He gulped back the urge to lurch away. 

Soon, Max was growing more demanding. He maneuvered Ambulon on First Aid’s berth and resumed their mismatched kissing, breaking into Ambulon’s mouth and stealing pleasure. 

Ambulon’s groaned. His hands clinging to Maximus’s shoulders. 

“Oh please!” He whimpered, not really knowing what he was trying to say or what he wanted. Part of him begged for relief from the burden of responsibility. But having this closeness, this appearance of being desired, it felt so _good_ and right now Ambulon needed to feel good. Forget the consequences, he just had to have something to hold onto. And if the force behind Maximus’s embrace was any indication, Ambulon knew Max was experiencing the same craving. 

They shared a meaningful look. Just for a moment. With Fortress Maximus hanging over him, hot and heavy and rife with anticipation. Ventilations quivered out of bodies shaking with barely restrained yearning. Then they were crashing together again. Meeting fiercely. Maximus’s hand dragged up Ambulon’s thighs which were wedged apart, spread by Maximus’s bulk. Their interface hatches clashing together, driven by carnal urges. 

But the moment was spoiled.  

A bleep sounded from behind them, the hab suite door whooshed open and First Aid was stranded in the archway by the scene taking place on _his_ berth. 

The couple broke apart. Ambulon peeped at his roommate over Maximus’s enormous shoulders. 

First Aid’s view of Ambulon was obscured by the shadow Fort Max cast, he could just see two scowling optics looking directly at him. Maximus shifted too, First Aid could have sworn he heard the large ‘bot growl. 

This wasn’t a picture he needed in his processor. First Aid was so appalled he forgot what he’d come back for. Whatever it was he was certain he could do without for the evening. 

Eagerly he fled the room. The door promptly slid shut behind him, squeezing all the unnatural light from the hallway out of the room leaving them with just the stars.

Ambulon groaned loudly and let his helm flop against the berth. His mood was ruined. His arms slid off Maximus’s tense body and crossed over his face. 

Equally perturbed by the disturbance Maximus rose, and settled on his haunches. 

“What did he want?” 

Ambulon shrugged,

“Probably came back for his card key.” 

Maximus remembered the Medicine Cabinet card key being mentioned to him before, automatically he glanced about the room and sure enough there was the card key: A white rectangle sitting the edge of the desk. It returned his thoughts to his intentions. The reason why he was here. 

Maximus’s speech was hesitant, he stared down at Ambulon’s body, flexed in front of him, and started stroking over the contours of his angular shape like he was searching for his strength to speak in his partner. 

Ambulon twitched slightly, neither encouraging or rejecting Maximus’s gentle exploration. 

  “I need to ask you for a favour.” Max whispered in husky tones. Under his hands he felt Ambulon’s body tighten like anticipation was a burden. 

Ambulon was cursing himself for not getting straight to his point as soon as Max entered. First Aid had caught them, he’d never believe that Ambulon had stepped into the room with the exact opposite intensions in mind. 

“These past couple of days... maybe nearly a week or two... they’ve been getting more difficult.” Max paused and waited for Ambulon to meet his troubled stare. Ambulon moved his hands aside, “I haven’t been able to recharge without... well you know, you were there. It’s getting harder to...” There were so many examples he could draw upon, the memories of Garrus-9 being the most disturbing but no more disturbing than speaking of the prison out loud, so Fortress Maximus focused on a less harmful topic, “To function and concentrate and I think I know why.” Ambulon was gazing up at him like this was the first time Fortress Maximus had ever spoken to him, “It’s the medication,” He blurted in a hurry, “It’s not enough I can’t...I can’t,” Max’s ventilations were almost panted out, “I can’t keep his voice out of my head!” 

Ambulon was taken aback. Fortress Maximus was embarrassed and sickened, and Ambulon’s lack of reply pushed him into another agonising confession. 

“Please, I need this. You don’t understand what it’s like to not feel in control of your own head. I feel angry, all the time and it _won’t stop!_ I’m...I’m scared I’ll hurt someone again. _Please_ , Ambulon.” He searched Ambulon’s expression frantically, his core temperature had risen and it seemed to pool behind his face plate. 

Ambulon’s jaw was ajar, he shook his head. 

“Max, you need to talk to Rung about thi”-

“No! I’ll be fine I promise, I don’t need his help, I’m not unstable. This is just a one off.” But it _wouldn’t_ be. If Ambulon agreed to this there was no telling what Max would ask him for next.   

“I can’t! I’d be stealing!” 

“But you’re a doctor!” 

“No! No I’m not... I’m just a nurse... whose reputation is already slagged up.” 

Maximus regarded him quizzically. The deep breath Ambulon dragged into his systems wasn’t nearly as bracing as he’d hoped, “Max...we need to talk.”

Already he could feel Max beginning to withdraw. 

Ambulon sat up and unhooked his legs from Maximus’s hips. 

“You can’t even begin to understand how difficult this is to say.” His spark twisted into his mouth and throbbed and throbbed until Ambulon felt as if he was going to choke, “ I care about you, so much it _hurts_ you have to know that and I want you to get better but, as a physician aboard this ship, I don’t think I’m having a positive influence - not just on you b-but on other patients too.”

Maximus began to stutter a denial. 

He was hurtfully surprised, Ambulon could see the confusion welling behind Max’s optics as grief burned his own. It was nearly enough to break Ambulon’s resolution.

“I’m sorry, Max. I will help you get through this, every step of the way but we need to do it right” 

“Don’t! This is right! Ambulon please.” As Max reached out Ambulon shuffled back. The action paining him more than a punch to the stomach and Fort Max looked so distraught Ambulon had to fight the need to desperately beg for his forgiveness. Instead all the pressure and heartache built in his processor and developed into an awful ache. 

“We have to Max. It’s for the best. I swear I’ll still be here for you but as your friend and physician not”-

“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?!” The volume of Max’s voice pounded in Ambulon’s fragile audios. 

It was like his session with Rung was being given ugly validation. Max couldn’t cope. The make believe threat of this morning was suddenly more real and scary than he’d  ever imagined, “It’s not fair!” The pitch of his vocaliser squeaked, “I thought you wanted to help me!”

“Max!” Ambulon bleated. Roles reversed, this time Ambulon was stretched toward Maximus, but Max was already getting off the berth, fists clenched and Ambulon could feel waves of bitter anger rolling off his EM Fields.

“You just stuck around while it suited you! Was it a part of your bets huh?” 

Max was reacting by lashing out, using words to humiliate Ambulon the way he’d stung Maximus. 

When realisation struck Ambulon his optics flared in resentment.  

“No! Primus no! Max this is just about me and you.” 

“Yeah, I bet it slagging is. You _never_ wanted me to get better. Everyone on this rotten ship just likes watching me suffer for the sake of a few lousy credits!” Max’s face contorted in misery, “I can’t believe I” _fell for it... fell for_ ** _you._** There was a horrible pain in his spark, like it was being squeezed by a cold fist. 

“Max, all I want is for you to be happy,”

“I was happy with you! I don’t understand where this has come from.”

“My other patients, First Aid, they all think” - 

“That’s slag! Why the frag do you care about what anyone thinks?!”

“Because I just do! I want them to like me so I can keep working.”

“You’re pathetic.” 

The words were like a whiplash and Ambulon was stricken. His next plea for reason struck off. It was cruel but also disgustingly familiar. Ambulon couldn’t even look at Max, he was frightened of what he would see, and the venomous words spoken without any conviction.    

The tension broke suddenly when the hab suite door slid open again and Ambulon realised Max was marching toward the exit. 

“Wait!” He croaked but it was already too late and the door shut with a soft thud. 

Alone in the room Ambulon listened to his cooling fans whirl manically. His ventilation hiccuped and Ambulon pulled his knees up to his chest. 

“Frag!” 

A feeling of loss hollowed out his insides. Ambulon gnashed his teeth as rested his helm on his knees, curling tightly round himself like it’d somehow protect him from the pain inflicted by memory. 

_[Power Levels: 5%. Requesting Immediate Recharge]_

Ambulon groaned lowly. His optics drooped but he didn’t want to lie down. He was plagued by guilt and the image of Maximus’s distraught expression. 

He couldn’t have meant what he said. Max was angry, people do rash things when their angry but that was little comfort to Ambulon. He was already questioning himself. A decision that had seemed so noble in theory had mutated into something wickedly self-serving. 

Ambulon didn’t know how to think of himself anymore. He was empty. 

But while he wallowed in self-pity and tallied his raw wounds Ambulon failed to notice that First Aid’s forgotten key card had vanished off the desk.  


	19. pt1

**_2000hrs_ **

 

“ _First Aid_ , what’s the matter with you, mech? You’ve been looking miserable all night.” 

He’d been quietly drawing shapes on the table using the excess froth from his draught. It had spilled over the edge of the cube when he’d sat down. His melancholy was obvious, he hadn’t tried to hide it but now that he’d been exposed First Aid suddenly found himself feeling very uncomfortable in his seat and focused on by curious optics. 

First Aid tried to trick himself into thinking he’d come to Swerve’s to calm his nerves, there was a part of him had come looking for attention. But when Skids spoke to him, First Aid cringed. He never was very good at lying and sometimes he wondered if he wasn’t build with coping mechanisms. 

“I caught them at _it._ ” He confessed to the table. A communal, mirthful cheer was their reaction, “...On my berth.” That same cheer devolved into a pitying ‘woo’ “So yeah.” 

First Aid sighed and slumped back, abandoning his liquid masterpiece to dry.

Some of the others were still sniggering but Skids and Tailgate seemed more eager to hear the gossip. 

“So?” Skids leaned in a little closer, pushing First Aid’s drinking into hand. They were all behaving so familiar round him, even though he’d joined the crew late, the Lost Light made First Aid feel welcome and even though First Aid knew he really shouldn’t spread rumors what he’d seen had been eating away at him, gnawing until he felt desperate to get it off his chest. 

“I came back to the hab suite half way through my shift and they were just... _there._ ”

“Who was on top?” Swerve chimed in unexpectedly, he’d come to collect empty glasses, only, that wasn’t entirely true, Swerve was born with an inbuilt radar for juicy conversation and then he gravitated toward it like a moth to light. First Aid cringed, now nothing was going to be kept private for sure.

“Max was, and he”-

“How big was his spike?”

Immediately First Aid flushed and started to stammer,

“I - I don’t”-

“Did you see it?”

“Swerve, give him a chance.” Skids chided. Swerve backed off a little but continued milling around the table, he held an empty cube in his hand and started wiping it over with a damp rag to at least give the appearance of remaining on task. 

“I was a bit shell-shocked... I just walked in and there they were _on my berth_!” Because that really was the root of the issue, “And then they both glared at me like ... like.” First Aid ex-vented harshly and stooped forward, groaning when he put his face to rest in his hands, “I can’t take this anymore!” 

“Why don’t you speak to Magnus, maybe he can get you transferred? Or just swap rooms with Max, I’m pretty sure he’s got a single all to himself.” 

First Aid thought about it, however, that wasn’t really his biggest problem. Beneath his mask he chewed his lips and tried not to think of Ambulon pinned under another mech. That wasn’t what this is about. 

“But Max is a patient!” First Aid snapped, catching everyone on the table a little off guard, “Not only is what Ambulon doing completely wrong it’s unhealthy for Maximus! Ambulon should know better!” 

“But if it makes them both happy then what’s the problem?” Tailgate was trying to be a part of the conversation, in an effort to be seen Tailgate had to almost crawl onto the table. 

First Aid opened his mouth to protest then shut it quickly. He chewed over his thoughts.

“I’m not sure if Ambulon is happy...Not really. He’s always been the same, always choosing the mech he think he can _fix_ and always ending up out of his depth.” First Aid realised he might have romanticized it a little, Tailgate in particular didn’t find the whole scenario as taboo as First Aid liked to portray it. 

  “Were they there when you got back?” It was up to Skids to interject when First Aid seemed to have lost his pace. 

Shaking his helm First Aid replied. 

“No. Max had gone, Ambulon was asleep...on his own berth thankfully. I didn’t recharge last night though, I waited for Ambulon to head off on his duty shift tonight then I disinfected the whole thing.” The fumes of chemical cleaners were still buzzing around him. The table laughed. First Aid tried to grin along with them but his spark felt heavy. Ambulon hadn’t even looked at him when he left their suite to attend his night shift. There was a weight baring down on Ambulon’s shoulders. First Aid had sensed it in his EM field, it was like depression and that _worried_ First Aid. He’d seen the outcome of an attack of self-blame, Ambulon never chose to confide in him, whatever burdens he struggled with they were never shared. 

As a precaution, First Aid dedicated half an hour to hiding every sharp objects that Ambulon could manipulate into an instrument for cutting. He couldn’t, however, hide the arsenal of scalpels, laser cutters, metal saws and knives Ambulon had open access to in the medical bay. 

“Imagine if they’d still been at it when you got back.” Swerve jabbed First Aid sharply with his elbow, “They might have asked you to join in!” The idea made First Aid queazy and Swerve kept making little quips, not helping at all and embarrassing. 

“...and then Ambulon would be all like”- 

“SHUT UP SWERVE!” First Aid wasn’t sure where his voice had come from, neither was the rest of the table. Polite, shy, amicable First Aid never raised his voice. It took a few moments to register that the shouts had actually come from him. The cube in his hands was shaking. 

Silence surrounded their secluded booth. Swerve’s jaw was hanging open, First Aid knew he still wanted to talk and if he dared to try and say another word First Aid feared his own reaction. 

Fortunately (or unfortunately, First Aid couldn’t decide which ) the moment was interrupted. Ambulon had just staggered into the room.

Briefly, he and First Aid stared at each other. Ambulon looked startled, out of breath and First Aid was honestly surprised to see him considering the other medic was supposed to be settled into the night shift by now.  

Quickly, Amublon broke the contact. First Aid’s attention dropped to the outlandish flecks of white and blue drawn all over Ambulon’s thighs. Everyone else would have spotted that too, there was no way Ambulon could attribute it to the remnants of his old paint job breaking through. 

First Aid scowled. It was like Ambulon was purposely flaunting his commitment to misbehaving. 

Although he was annoyed First Aid wasn’t completely blinded by it. Something was amiss. Ambulon was a wobbly, uncoordinated mess as he hurried over to the bar. Not saying a word, feet catching on chair legs, when he crashed into the counter Ambulon had to hold himself upright because his legs were trembling badly. First Aid couldn’t stay away. 

 

 

**_1800hrs_  **

 

 

The morning after Fortress Maximus received a message delivered directly to his personal comm. frequency. Of course it was off Ambulon. Just the sight of his name made Maximus spark churn.  What he felt was complicated, anger,  always anger but it was a cracked concealer for the much more bitter stab of betrayal. He’d tried to resist opening the message. For hours he let it sit likea burden aching on his processor. Max tossed and turned in his berth. Sometimes he tried pacing the room but he couldn’t escape the thought of the unread message lying in his mailbox. His desire to open it turned into a craving and eventually Maximus gave in.

_Can we talk, please?_

Maximus scoffed and deleted the message immediately.

It wasn’t worth his trouble. To make himself feel better he threw a few things about the room: drawers, the swivel chair was over turned and he put a dent in his work station.  

When the frustrated hum of his fans eventually dwindled, Maximus was left in bleak silence. And it was still too loud. Every damn thought had the sound of nails dragged down a chalk board. Growling, he covered his face and flopped down on the berth again. He couldn’t stand the sight of the four walls caging him. It felt more like a grey prison than his hab suite. 

Uhh _prisons._ He’d spent too much of his life in prisons. All the memories came rushing back. If only there was a way to block them out...

Max peeped between his fingers at the arrangement of empty pill bottles. The sight made him angry. Everything made him angry but this really, really riled him because he’d failed himself. 

He needed that medication desperately. Without it he was at risk of “ _Delusions, extreme paranoia, anxiety”_ to name a few of the crippling afflictions listed on the bottles. Most of which he’d already had a taste of. 

In his hands he twiddled First Aid’s card key. Sometimes he’d forget it was there, and when he’d rediscover it guilt squeezed his spark. It was too late to redeem himself now, it was done, the card was his. Maximus processor schemed ways of putting himself in front of the medicine cabinet without being seen. 

He’d just take enough to cover his proscription - the one Rung had suggested he revert to. It would’ve been so easy to just accept Rung’s advice, but Maximus still had a point to prove. He wanted to do this by himself and prove everyone wrong, and then Ambulon would see the mistake he’d made. 

This feeling, the achy sensation in his chest, it was new to him and all Maximus could do to console himself was rest with his helm pressed to the wall. The silence of the room blared his flaws making him flinch suddenly.

There was something in the dark corner of the room and he was too afraid to look. If he looked it would catch him. 

“No, no, no.” This was all in his head he tried to tell himself. A side-effect, just a side-effect, he’d put a stop to them soon. 

But despite his own delusions of self-repair his instinct was still to find Ambulon because there was still _something_ there, watching! With venom dripping from its lips and errant optics. 

Make it go away, _please_!

He longed for Ambulon, needed that validation that he _would_ be okay. But his berth was empty. Just him and the dark phantom baring down on him.  

Breathe.

The keycard was malleable, he bent it in his hands, thinking deeply. 

Could the outcome be good even if the means of achieving it was ill-considered?

What would Ambulon think?

Why should he care?!

Maximus thrashed again. His tank-treads connecting heavily with the berth, his legs dangled over the head and he brought both hands up, covering his eyes. With the lights off as well the darkness he created reminded him of the blindness he stumbled through in Garrus-9. Trapped. 

If only he could forget. 

_Ping!_

Another message pushed into his personal inbox. Ambulon. 

Rather than suffer the irritation of drawing out the ordeal he read it at once.

_I’m doing the night shift if you want to meet up. Please reply._

 

  Maximus never appreciated being told what to do. But, as the pieces started connecting in his mind, this _could_ be the opportunity he needed to get into the Medicine Cabinet. 

He tried to focus on the task instead of the burning anxiety that shook his spark with every step Max took toward the Medical Bay. 

 

**_1900hrs_ **

 

There was a little graphic in the bottom of Ambulon’s HUD that informed that Maximus had viewed his messages but there was no sign of the reply Ambulon was desperately hoping for. 

He sat in his office, resting his helm against the mound of paper work, heavy venting. 

Last night had left him feeling like a mess of emotion. All he could do was sit and mope, wondering why he’d done it and mercilessly scolding himself for his poor judgment and reminding himself of why he’d done it. He was a professional, not a love-sick drone. 

_Love-sick_? Oh dear... 

The pangs of loneliness were getting worse and it had only been a day. Ambulon didn’t know how much worse it was going to get. It was a small ship, they’d have to see each other everyday, force civil tones when they had no choice but to communicate, avoiding each other as much as possible beyond that. Their relationship would be irreparable and that outcome seemed unavoidable as much as Ambulon feared it. 

Ambulon lifted his head, rubbing a hand over his face, pulling on the taught, tired metal. Not even the mountain of unfinished paper work could console him. Ambulon was grieving. 

This was beginning to feel like the longest nightshift of his life. 

And then the buzzer rung. Ambulon almost flinched. The sound meant his he was being called out to deal with a drop-in patient. These kind of mysterious summons left Ambulon not knowing what to expect. Sometimes he had to solder severed digits, or sometimes it was as simple as providing a big band-aid for the Cybertonian equivalent of a ‘boo-boo’. But Ambulon was hoping for something else. And as he opened his office door he was sort of relieved and almost pleased to see Fortress Maximus standing awkwardly on the other side, swaying in the centre of the room.  

The hulking Autobot didn’t want to look at him and Ambulon’s relief drained away, leaving behind an apprehension that twisted his guts. 

“You wanted to talk.” Maximus grumbled, his deep voice shaking Ambulon’s core. The medic swallowed. The medbay was quiet except for the steady bleeps of medical apparatus and the sleepy spinning of Whirl’s ventilation while the mech recharged in a peaceful corner of the room. It still wasn’t private enough for Ambulon’s tastes, anyone could walk in. He stepped back into his office and silently gestured for Maximus to follow. 

“Yeah...”

Grunting, Maximus complied. Ambulon had to jump out of his way when he entered the office he shared with First Aid. In the small room Max took up a lot of space. His presence was overbaring and consuming. Ambulon was squashed against his desk while Maximus glared at his middle from the opposite side of the room. To protect himself, Ambulon folded his arms over his stomach. 

 The door slid shut on its own, the sound of medical machinery was more distant making the uncomfortable tension between them more obvious. Ambulon wasn’t sure what he wanted any more. With Fortress Maximus stood in front of him, hurting and insecure, Ambulon’s instinct was to throw his arms round the large ‘bot. He resisted. 

“H-How are you?” Stupid question. Maximus glared. Ambulon winced but didn’t retract the question or apologise for it. He waited for Max to respond. 

He eventually shrugged, and wrung his hands together repeatedly, unused to feeling so awkward round the medic.

“I feel like I have a lot of explaining to do.”-

“You do.” Max cut in snappily, Ambulon recoiled. In his discomfort he started to fidget and idled himself in the empty floor space, frantically searching for the right words.

“I think we left thing between us at a bad place last night and I...I want to apologise, Max...please look at me.” Max’s optics flickered up briefly making contact with Ambulon. A fierce, yearning hungers glowed behind them and briefly Ambulon thought the mech was about to pounce on him and put all of Ambulon’s good intentions to waste. Ambulon feared he wouldn’t be strong enough, mentally, to deny Maximus’s advances. 

“Say what you want to say, Ambulon. I don’t want to waste anymore of my time with your slag.”

Ambulon was taken aback, he hadn’t anticipated being spoken to so tactlessly and it stung. It was offensive and insensitive of Max to think all Ambulon was capable of was babbling and ‘wasting time’.  

“Is that all you think of me? I went out of my way to help you and you ruined my hard work because you couldn’t keep your fists to yourself! I tried to help you, I am _still_ trying to help you and that’s all you can say!” 

“Enlighten me, how are you still trying to help?” 

“I honestly cannot believe you! If I didn’t care I wouldn’t have asked you to come here and I am not looking for a fight Maximus I just wanted...” Ambulon slowed down and quieted his agitation, “I wanted to talk to you sensibly, and to let you know that I’m still here for you.” 

“Then why couldn’t we just stay as we were? You’re over complicating everything.” Maximus stepped forward, close enough that Ambulon could feel the heat of his ex-vents. 

“Because you’re a patient!”

“Not your patient.” 

“I-It’s the principle.” 

“You’re afraid.”

“Of the repercussions.”

“When have _you,_ in your whole damn life, ever experienced real fear”- 

“ _Do not_ do that! I will not have _this_ compared to...” Ambulon hesitated knowing that speaking of the comparison aloud might set off a trigger in Maximus’s fragile mind. 

“Go on.” Max growled, hunting for an excuse to uncage his anger. 

“W-What’s going on between us cannot be compared to what you suffered, it’s not the same.” 

“It is to me... it’s a betrayal.” 

“I am not betraying you! I want to give you space to...to fix yourself”-  
“If I could just _fix_ myself I would’ve done it by now, Ambulon! But I can’t! You should know that better than anyone, you saw what I was like”-

“Yes! Yes, I know, oh Primus I know but as difficult as it is you can’t use it as an excuse for aggression!”

“I’m not! And that’s so fraggin’ easy for you to say! You know what I think the problem is: things aren’t as picturesque as you thought they’d be and you realised it wasn’t worth the effort!”

“You are completely worth the effort!”  
“Then why are you leaving me?!”

The question derailed the tempo. Both were breathing heavily and the pulse of their own fuel pumps sounded loudly in their audios. Maximus bit his glossa. Ambulon reached up and pinched his nasal ridge. 

“This isn’t getting us anywhere.” 

“Well, what were you expecting?”

Ambulon shook his head, “I don’t...I don’t know. I wanted to avoid the shouting.”

Air hissed out of Maximus’s vents, “Like that was ever going to happen.”

“Heh.” 

They glanced at each other, making rueful eye contact. Their lips upturned into what was a very shy smile. A very odd reaction, all things considered. 

Ambulon straightened himself out, 

“Listen, maybe we should leave this until another day, I’m sorry for dragging you out of your hab suite, I just thought...” He punched the door controls and the barrier slid back, allowing Maximus a view of the medical bay and the exit, it would only stay open so long before shutting automatically again, “I wanted to make sure you were okay. I still care, Max. I’ll always care.” 

“Prove it.”

Max’s hand snapped into place round Ambulon’s wrist. Next he was pulling Ambulon, sharply, back to where he’d been standing between Maximus and the desk. Giving him no time to complain or protest, Maximus was already on him, moving forcefully, pressing his mouth over Ambulon’s in a strong, biting kiss Ambulon couldn’t wriggle out of. 

It was so unexpected, Ambulon couldn’t think of what he’d done to invite such a reaction.

The desk pressed into Ambulon’s back, or was he being pressed against the desk? There wasn’t much of difference to acknowledge when Ambulon’s senses were so full of Maximus’s overbearing, excessively demanding weight looming upon him, devouring him. 

His hands jerked out to steady himself but the surface of the desk was smooth, Ambulon had nowhere to grip. His hands slid from under him and next Ambulon was crashing onto his elbows. Maximus was still trying to force him lower. He crouched over the smaller form, trapping him between massive arms that appeared to Ambulon as bars of a jail cell. 

He whimpered into Max’s mouth. All at once fear and dark, dark hunger exploded inside him and expanded his EM fields, enticing Max despite Ambulon’s conscious protests. 

Ambulon wanted Max. He _always_ wanted Fortress Maximus. The enormous body, the physical strength, the danger: being with Max was like euphoria and Ambulon would always find himself craving more. 

For a crazy, unplanned moment Ambulon realised he was kissing back, strongly, wishing it didn’t have the end because _this_ was everything he’d wanted. But it was wrong. Why did it have to be wrong? The pressures of responsibility weighed on him, Ambulon’s rationale protocols blared hazards he couldn’t ignore and spoiled the sentiment.  

Despite his yearning, Ambulon couldn’t allow Maximus to corrupt his decision, as much as pushing Max away would hurt them both and Ambulon had to believe he was doing the right thing. Maximus was confused by these emotions he was unused to grappling with. Beyond pain and self-consciousness Fort Max wasn’t equipped to cope with much else. He’d never expected to juggle romanic feelings ever again. While he was frightened of having them and fumbling he was simultaneously afraid to lose them. Because there would be nothing after this, he was sure. Just like he was sure no one would want him after Garrus-9. 

Which was why he couldn’t let Ambulon escape. When the smaller ‘bot began to struggle Maximus’s hold on his hips firmed. He just wanted to prove to Ambulon how much he cared, and this seemed to be the only way. 

“Max!” Ambulon squawked, tearing their mouths apart, “We can’t!” 

The protests pierced his spark. Why did Ambulon keep forcing him away?! His engined rumbled, low and aggressive. It made Ambulon freeze beneath him, optics rounding with apprehension. He searched Maximus’s face and almost looked hurt. _As if he had any right!_ Maximus thought. If Ambulon thought he could play the victim after twisting Fort Max’s spark so carelessly then he was mistaken! 

Fortress Maximus dipped his helm down again, hunting for Ambulon’s lips. There was less desperate need in the action this time, it had been replaced by a ruthless need to own Ambulon, to keep him. 

“No, Max, please I...” Ambulon fumbled for an excuse, he twisted his head away, exposing his neck. Maximus eagerly latched on, tugging on wires and energon vessels with his mouth. Ambulon whined, completely muddled between bodily impulse and rationality. They _couldn’t_ do this! Not here, not now, not like this! 

But then the door slid shut again, closing Ambulon into the room with Max, bottling all the heat, the roar of their riled systems and tension in the small space. The feelings couldn’t expand anymore, they were trapped by four walls and so the pressure built and built. Maximus’s heavy grunts over powered the sound of Ambulon’s pleas. Rejection was something Fort Max simply wasn’t able to deal with, it panicked him. He’d been denied before and, in this instance and the last Max resorted to throwing himself at his partners because it was all he could do to please them. If he failed the penance was normally a finger, or a denta or an hour left to the whims of the Decepticons. 

“I’ll make it g-good for you.” He muttered like a mad-man. Ambulon clawing at him harder and Max didn’t know what else he could _do_ to the body writhing under him. So he just held on, and touched and kissed. All the while he was aware of Ambulon’s ventilations quickening, his body becoming rigid and small hands grasping at his forearms, trying to push him away but lacking the strength and the resolve, “ I swear.” 

Hands felt between Ambulon’s legs, jerking his thighs apart roughly. Ambulon kicked and thrashed, he would have fallen had Maximus not wedged himself so firmly between his legs. 

“Uhh, no.” Ambulon face contorted, he tried to squirm away. Max pulled him back, again, this time by his hips, with enough pressure to put dents in the metal. Underneath the armour certain wires were pinched and Ambulon drew in a pained gasp.  

“ _Max_! You’re hurting”-

Suddenly, Ambulon was roughly shunted all the way down, his back striking the desk hard, he came face to face with Maximus’s snarling expression and Ambulon was, as much as it shamed him to admit, afraid of Fortress Maximus. 

He hardly recognised the face glaring at him. Maximus looked deranged.

“But you like pain, don’t you?!” For emphasis he dipped his wide fingers into Ambulon’s groin, stabbing at the circuitry barely covered by armour. Ambulon bleated, convulsed upward and tried to close his legs. Maximus stopped him and kept kneading wires until the air rushed out of Ambulon in panicky gasps, “That’s what you said. _You asked me for this_ remember? And I’m sick of being patient!” And of being _a_ patient he should have added but didn’t, “Now stay still! Because I know you want it!” 

Even when Ambulon felt the hot, wet drag of Maximus’s glossa lapping over his neck Ambulon was more concerned by the fingers jammed into his groin plating and prying at his interface hatch. Ambulon didn’t know if Max was searching for the manual release or aiming to rip the thing off completely. The force behind his intrusive tugs made Ambulon worry Max was exploring the later theory.

Ambulon’s hands reached up, he shoved at Maximus’s helm prompting a growl. In response to the rougher approach Maximus reacted in kind yanking on Ambulon’s tortured interface. 

Ambulon’s hand slapped over his mouth just in time to smother a howl. 

Too far. 

“Enough Max!” 

“Stop moving!”

“NO! I said _stop it!_ Get off me!” Ambulon kicked Max off angrily. He thrust his heel into Maximus’s abdomen and sent the mech staggering back leaving behind a streak of orange paint on Max’s pale armour. 

Shock was plainly painted on Maximus’s face plate. He looked down to where his paint job had been marked, his fingers gingerly tracing the blemish. With astonishment clouding his optics he glared at the cause. 

Panting, Ambulon eased off the desk, surprisingly weak and aching. He was guarded and prepared for another... attack. 

When he looked at Maximus he saw a ragged and half-crazed mech, breathing deeply through his gaping mouth and his face was dark with a dangerous expression Ambulon didn’t recognise. It made him gulp. 

They both stood straighter, Ambulon couldn’t control the quaking in his thighs just as Max couldn’t stop his fists from trembling. 

But, even in spite of the near suicidal risk Ambulon couldn’t stop himself from saying venomously, 

“Would you sooner see yourself become Overlord than defeat him?”  

A growl sounded deeply and filled the room, it put trembles into Ambulon, “You’re doing more than letting _him_ beat you Max, you’re turning into him and”- Fortress Maximus thundered forward making full use of his size to drown the rest of Ambulon’s accusation. Reflexively, Ambulon stepped back, but trying to escape the war path only succeeded in trapping himself against the desk again.

Taking advantage of Ambulon’s frailty Maximus spat at him,

“You’re a vindictive tease, you”-

Ambulon shoved at Maximus’s shoulders, Max caught his hands, squeezing them tightly until Ambulon yanked them free,. 

Max raised his hand, prepared to slap Ambulon. 

“ _Enough!”_ Ambulon shrieked before he could be belted to the other side of the room. “I know you’re angry Max, but you cannot take it out on me... not this time.”

He left while he still could, limping out the door, abandoning  Maximus to wallow alone. Seething, Max watched Ambulon go. 

Hot, clammy and overwhelmed by the sound of his own vents roaring in his audio Maximus staggered into the door way leaning heavily on it for support. A strange taste entered his mouth, like bile. An unsettling presence landed on the back of his plating, comparable to a cold, damp sweat. Max stretched his neck, straightening out the kinks of tension. 

Ambulon had gone. He’d lost him. There was nothing left to do but prepare his own consolation: At last he was alone in the Med Bay. The medicine cabinet just a few steps away and no one there to stop him. 

First Aid’s keycard found its way into his hand somehow. Before Max knew it he was stood in front of the cabinet, observing the little capsules of pills through the glass. They were clearly labelled, already he’d found what he was looking for. 

When he lifted the key card to the locking mechanism Maximus learned of the shake in his hands. He frowned, tried to steady himself but couldn’t. 

Eventually he managed to swipe the card through the mechanism. 

An error message flashed in red, [ _Card Not Recognised]_

Maximus tried again, same response. And again. And again. Rougher each time until he let out a frustrated growl. 

To calm himself, Maximus inhaled deeply, in his olfactory sensors he smelt Ambulon. 

“Frag.” He whispered, weakened by the thought of the medic. Max rested his helm on the cool glass in front of him, staring bleakly at the lock. 

Soon after, he tried again, slower, and with less heavy-handed brutality. The keycard glided through the scanner. 

_[Card Recognised:  
Accessor: First Aid]_ 

Maximus breathed a sigh. He didn’t feel relief or successes, all felt was exhausted. He wanted recharge and escape from the burden his life had become. His only hope for a peaceful night resided in one of the bottles his  plucked out of the cabinet. 

“Oh dear, oh dear. Someone’s being a bit naughty.” 

Max should’ve known it was never going to be that easy. And when the wall of red came down over his optics Maximus didn’t think, like always, he just acted - doing what he thought he needed to stay in control of the situation even when his world was unravelling around him. 


	20. pt2

**_1945hrs_ **

 

Ambulon wandered down the corridors, lost in his own mind. He didn’t know where he was going, his feet were carrying him but it was like they weren’t coordinated with his processor. His processor was hazy with disbelief. Sometimes he’d shiver at the thought of fingers prying at him with an intimacy he didn’t agree to. He was struggling to believe what had just happened, he didn’t want to speculate how far Max was willing to go if Ambulon hadn’t been so outspoke. 

None of this made sense to him. Things had been going well, Ambulon wondered where everything had gone so wrong. The prospect of Rung being right all along nagged at him. Acknowledging himself as the bad influence hurt, Ambulon couldn’t believe his good intentions could be so flawed, it undermined everything he stood for. 

Primus, he needed to calm down, a drink was in order. It surprised Ambulon to find himself outside Swerve’s the moment the desire for high grade pushed into conscious thought. 

Ambulon lingered in the doorway, ahead of him was the table he normally shared with Maximus. Empty. Something inside Ambulon sunk. He recalled the bubbly excitement that filled his tanks whenever Maximus joined him at their usual spot and how distance that pleasantness seemed. 

When Ambulon mustered the will to stumble into the bar he was aware he attracted a few glances, but they became part of the background as he marched toward the bar, wondering what drink to purchase. Pick a drink overtook everything. It was his focus. He thought so hard about it he nearly fell - twice! 

Then he was at the bar, he needed to hold onto the surface. He knees knocked together and Ambulon realised is he was to stop supporting himself he’d fall. 

That would be embarrassing he decided. 

Looking up and down the bar he realised Swerve was no where insight. Oh well, he could wait. Couldn’t he? He’d left the med-bay unattended, Ratchet wouldn’t be very happy. As soon as he got his drink he’d go back, he’d have all his paper work finished by morning. He’d even catagorise it for easy reading. Not even Pharma had thought to do that before! 

“Ambulon?” A voice spoke over his shoulder, Ambulon’s spark jumped. It was First Aid. He had nothing to say to First Aid but the medic insisted on hovering round him. 

“Ambulon you’re supposed to be in the Med Bay.” 

“I know, I just came for a drink.”

“You can’t drink high grade when you’re on duty!” First Aid hissed. Now Swerve was approaching. 

“I know.” But Ambulon waved Swerve over anyway. He ordered a spritzer, he didn’t normally choose spritzers, he usually preferred something stronger but Fortress Maximus had once expressed a liking for the bendy straw adorning all spritzers and since then ordering the fruity drink had become habit. 

Swerve knew something was up. He looked at First Aid cautiously and agreed to serve Ambulon despite his obvious instability and First Aid’s look of total disapproval. 

It was too strange and too beyond regulation for First Aid to allow. He tried saying as much but his co-worker’s mind appeared to have drifted beyond his body. With a glazed expression Ambulon stared at his hands, clasped in front of him, thumbs crossed. First Aid reached out to him, giving Ambulon a firm shake. 

To his surprise Ambulon reacted badly, wrenching his arm free while nearly shouting, 

“Do not touch me!”  Most of the bar heard, not all. First Aid retracted immediately and dropped the volume of his voice hoping Ambulon would do the same. 

“Ambulon!” Ambulon continued to glare at him, fiercely disapproving. “Fine I won’t. What’s the matter with you?! You’re acting like a lunatic.”   

The cocktail slide in front of them, Ambulon’s hands shot out and grabbed it. Before First Aid could protest he’d already gulped half the frothy mixture down his neck. The bendy straw was digging into his cheek.

With his thirst partly quenched Ambulon pulled the cube away and gasped. Then he turned sharpish, drink still in hand and marched toward the door. There was a buzz growing in his circuits, warm and glowing, it numbed him even more. High Grade’s soothing effect on him was powerful even with just a weaker spritzer, he continued sipping on his drink, adding to the buzz that kept him sane as he wandered out the room.

“Hey!” Swerve called, “You can’t take glasses off the premises!” He looked genuinely offended. First Aid managed to settle him down. 

“I’ll get it back.” He promised and with that quickly took off after Ambulon. 

The other nurse hadn’t made it very far, the pre-emptive jog First Aid had broken into was unnecessary. Ambulon was only a corridor away, leaning against the wall, staring vacantly at a ceiling vent, the drink shaking in his grasp. 

“Ambulon.” First Aid slowed and stopped at Ambulon’s side, on further inspection he realised the marks on his legs were worse than he’d first believed. The tell-tale signs of struggle became obvious to him: misshapen plating, dents pressed into the interface armour the size and shape of large digits...

“Primus Ambulon, what happened?” 

“ Nothing.” 

First Aid knew the look, he’d experienced this before. He’d never forgotten the empty stares, the denials, the obvious but silent plea for help. 

It was a call First Aid would always answer. Even when he was supposed to be angry. 

Forgetting about Ambulon’s shift in the medical bay, First Aid led him back to their quarters, along the way he provided steady arm for support which Ambulon refused to take.

Inside their hab suite First Aid sat Ambulon down on his own berth. The other medic was still sipping on his drink, less quickly now to control the effect it had. 

In a nearby cupboard First Aid found what he needed: cleaning rags and an solution that had the effect of acetone on nail varnish. 

The room was quiet when First Aid knelt in front of Ambulon, he was sadly pleased to see Ambulon remembered the routine. The other medic parted his legs enough to let First Aid see the damage and start wiping him clean. 

“Fortress did this to you?” First Aid already knew, the remnant colour scheme smeared in Ambulon’s paint and the size of the dents gave the answer away. 

The cloth First Aid used rasped over the tender ports sunken in Ambulon’s thighs. It made the medic flinch. 

“He didn’t mean to.” Ambulon hissed in defense, looking away when First Aid stared up at him, visor bright with incredulity. 

“Then what did he mean to do? I’d say it was pretty obvious.”

“Shut up First Aid.” 

There was a brief moment when First Aid looked like he was actually going to comply, he lifted the dripping rag again onto to lower it soon after.

“Why do you _do_ it to yourself, Ambulon?” Ambulon put the spritzer to his mouth and started drinking down the last of it, “Why do you choose these mechs who can hurt you?”

“Max needed me.”

“But you don’t _need_ him.”

“I do”-

“No you don’t!” First Aid said as if scolding a sparkling, “ He is damaged, he will only ever bring you down and that is a promise! Whenever he screws up, and I’m not talking getting into a couple of fights, I’m talking about something bigger, when it happens and, mark my words, it will, it won’t just be him that gets caught in the slag storm, he’ll drag you along for the ride too!” 

“You don’t know what”-

“Are you fragging kidding me? Of course I fragging know! I was the one who fixed you up after Pharma remember. Ever single fraggin’ night. This is no different.”

“It _is_. Max needs”-

“No, what he needs is counseling. Decades of it. All you’re doing is fragging with his head even more, enough to make him want to do this to you!” 

Ambulon’s fingers tightened round the empty spritzer, stressing the glass until it creaked. 

First Aid buffed off a streak of blue, taking with it some of Ambulon’s flakey orange paint. It made him scowl. He’d never thought he’d be here again, doing precisely this, talking down to Ambulon like he was a juvenile. 

With a growl of rage First Aid threw the rag down. 

“For frag’s sake Ambulon! Out of all the mechs I call disease -carrying pit spawns on this ship you could have picked why did it have to be the one that actually has diseases!”

First Aid should’ve know Ambulon wouldn’t have taken kindly to his ranting but when Swerve’s bar glass bounced off his chest and smashed somewhere on the other side of the room First Aid found himself instinctually reacting in kind. 

He lunged at Ambulon, tackling him to the berth. They scratched at each other. Ambulon tried kicking him off and only succeeded in moving First Aid over his waist. 

First Aid grabbed Ambulon’s shoulders and shook him. The high-grade made Ambulon feel like his brain-model was spinning. 

“You’re a stupid.” He lifted Ambulon‘ off the berth a little ways then threw him back down, “Irresponsible. Kind. Insufferable. Moron!” On the last shake First Aid threw down Ambulon particularly hard and left him reeling on the berth, optics spinning. Then First Aid slumped forward, leaning over Ambulon’s body, propped on his elbows, face to face, “And why can‘t you choose me?”   

The words hardly made sense, Ambulon struggled with them. His mind was still behaving like a merry-go-round and it made his processor dizzy. What had First Aid just said? As he tilted his helm to face the medic hanging inches over him Ambulon realised First Aid had retracted his face mask. 

The nurse had a mouth: thin lips and crocked denta, but when First Aid pressed his mouth to Ambulon’s, Ambulon found himself sighing all the same. 

It was quiet and very emotional, soft sounds of plating bumping together filled the room. Ambulon whimpered, all his breath escaping through his vents. He tried to push himself up, onto his elbows and only managed to deepen the kiss. First Aid brought his hand up, caressing the back of Ambulon’s helm. Their chests knocked together. 

Ambulon pulled his glossa from First Aid’s mouth. First Aid lapped up the strand of fluid stretching between them. 

“Please,” First Aid whispered and started rolling his aft against Ambulon’s groin when it looked like Ambulon was going protest, “Just try me,” He kissed Ambulon again, then abandoned his lips in preference for his jawline, then his neck, all the while pressing his aft into Ambulon’s groin, “Please.” 

“First Aid...” Ambulon wanted to say something, he wanted to brush off the medic. He’d had enough of this for one night. His processor was screaming at him but somehow Ambulon couldn’t find the strength to say no. First Aid was gentle, he leaned back and dragged a hand up Ambulon’s thighs making all his problems and reluctance seem so distant. The contact exciting the buried dataports. First Aid teased them and made Ambulon squirm. The caps covering the ports snapped open on soon after. 

This wasn’t saying no. 

He wondered if this would solidify his separation from Max? Problem not. It would only make a bigger mess of things. Ambulon should have thought of that. But First Aid was making a show of himself, grinding away at Ambulon’s lap, simultaneously chipping away at his barriers of self-restraint. 

“Please, Ambulon.” He sat back, adding more weight, more heat to Ambulon’s lap. First Aid dragged his hands down Ambulon’s chest. Somehow Ambulon’s hands moved naturally to the curve of First Aid’s waist, then discovered the data-ports hidden in his hips and teased at them with his thumbs. 

First aid gasped, allowing him instant access, unspooling his interface cables at the same time. 

“Please Ambulon, I want you.” It was said so innocently, Ambulon couldn’t resist. He lurched up, crushing his mouth over First Aid, the other ‘bot whimpering needfully. Ambulon’s own interface cables dropped out their compartments. They were buzzing with energy. First Aid took up one of the revealed data prongs and broke their kiss to place it in his mouth. Electricity zapped across his tongue and filled his mouth with charge. The sensation surrounding the delicate prong enticed Ambulon to hiss with pleasure. The look for First Aid’s lips wrapped round it so seductively made his spike lurch. 

First Aid dropped the plug from his mouth, when he kissed Ambulon again his tongue was full of static electricity that swapped between them, conducted through oral fluid, bouncing over their glossa and denta. 

Ambulon shuddered in First Aid’s embrace, he should’ve know First Aid liked to experiment with a few tricks. The Autobot was eccentric, in Ambulon’s experience that translated into some interesting kinks. If First Aid wasn’t so keen on keeping Ambulon interested during their first time together he’d have shared a few of them. With his desires set to impress, First Aid moved quickly. He was making connections faster than Ambulon realised, amping up the charge between them, pushing more and more pleasure into his EM field. Six prongs dug into the ports in Ambulon’s thigh, a rush of hot, hot energy flooded him and Ambulon arched up, mouth open, panting. 

Three prongs pushed into Ambulon’s side and another slipped into the port beneath the recharge adapter in his neck. Ambulon was now connect to First Aid. But the Circuit wasn’t complete, he couldn’t return the washes of hunger and lust that tantalized every circuit in his body.  

“First Aid!” He gasped. Every node in his body responding keenly to the other medic’s attention. 

“Do you like that?” First Aid dragged his glossa over Ambulon’s neck, feeling his throbbing pulse. 

Ambulon fumbled to return the favour by connecting his cables to First Aid but his hands were twitching with the rush of energy. He dropped the adaptor he was clinging to and First Aid chuckled darkly, 

“I think you do.” He found one of the pulsing wires connected to Ambulon’s thighs. First Aid wrapped it round his finger, the kink increased the pressure of energy back-logued by the obstruction. When the wire was released Ambulon wailed with pleasure. A wave of energy flooded the connection, it almost _burned_ and then First Aid’s denta sunk into his neck cabling and Ambulon groaned again until he was cycling air heavily and trembling.  

He was unused to this kind of interfacing. Managing his electrical output and self-charge was new to him again. It made everything more intense and Ambulon longed to give back everything First Aid was making him take. 

By the time First Aid considered showing mercy Ambulon was uncomfortably full with electricity, he could hardly move and his EM fields were expanding with need for relief. Even when his cheeks were flushing with heat and coolant welled behind his optics, making them brim with pressure First Aid still pumped more into him until Ambulon coughed static and his spike burst out of its housing on its own accord, bulging and throbbingly erect. 

First Aid smiled greedily. 

“So that’s the way you want to go.” He said quietly, like he was speaking to himself, answering aloud a question he’d been wondering for a long time. Ambulon was panting, his hips pushing upward, rubbing his spike over First Aid’s plating, wanting to push it into something. Anything for relief. 

First Aid retracted his plating. His valve was already primed by desire and he slid himself against Ambulon’s spike. The ridges catching on his folds made First Aid hiss and offline his optics as he began connecting Ambulon to him, still working to cover Ambulon’s spike in his messy secretions. 

The circuit was nearly complete. Ambulon breathed relief. Emotions trickled through the bound, pieces of a larger picture and then, when First Aid plugged the last of Ambulon’s cables into the back of his neck the flood gates opened. Desperation, fear, need, loneliness. It was impossible to differentiate who felt what. But the dominating lust definitely belonged to First Aid. 

It was Ambulon’s normal method to take his time sifting through data packets, making sense of the torrents of information and share the intimacy but First Aid didn’t allow him the chance. 

He impaled himself on Ambulon’s spike. Wiggled his aft a little then did it again. Unexpectedly. Ambulon’s optics bulged, his mouth drawing in an intake so deep he choked. 

“ _Frag!”_

First Aid was relentless, his valve tight enough to squeeze Ambulon in all the right ways. The air around them turned humid as heat between them continued to build. Ambulon’s cool systems were taxed, dumping stuffy air as quickly as possible. He began jerking to meet First Aid’s rhythm, hands reaching up to tweak at the wires in his hips, then, after exploring downward he cupping the other medic’s aft, pulling him closer. 

Not to be outdone, First Aid reached behind him too, blindly groping at Ambulon’s uncovered valve, sliding his fingers over the tense opening, collecting globs of lubricant which he then brought to his mouth. 

It was vulgar, Ambulon thought, but it made his fuel pump race harder when First Aid licked the shiny fluid delicately of his digits. 

When he was done, First Aid planted both hands on Ambulon’s chest, pushing him back down onto the berth, quickening the pace of their fragging until Ambulon’s face contorted. First Aid knew he was holding back from overloading. 

“H-Harder.” Ambulon coughed, First Aid complied, bouncing and groaning and slamming their plating together, putting more dents and paint transfers onto Ambulon. 

The friction amplified the charge, another pulse of electricity surged between them, both their sparks constricted tightly by excessive agitation. 

“OH, oh slag.” First Aid whimpered, ached back, staring at the ceiling, bouncing up and down on Ambulon’s spike, crazed by chasing an overload, “I’m”- He was cut off, Ambulon came first, shooting blobs of fluid deep inside First Aid, grabbing his hips and crushing their components together, holding them in place until he spark stopped fluttering but First Aid’s valve continued to spasm round his spike. 

First Aid threw himself forward, kissing Ambulon forcefully, opening up the restrictions on their hardware bond and giving Ambulon everything he had until Ambulon squirmed beneath him. 

Eventually, the flow tapered off. First Aid lay on top of Ambulon, panting heavily, letting the afterglow settle in. He shifted his head, staring at Ambulon’s exhausted face. 

Ambulon was looking at the ceiling, optics dim and mouth slightly agape. 

First Aid started tracing random patterns into his chest. 

Neither said a word. Even though there was an anxiousness in First Aid that _wanted_ to talk about what just happened. Ambulon didn’t share that desire. He shuttered his optics  and entirely too soon was disturbed by First Aid starting to fidget. He squirmed until he slid off Ambulon and lay at his side with one arm draped over his stomach. 

Then there was silence again, Ambulon sunk into deep, unsettling thoughts about what he’d just done. 

“Are you feeling okay?” First Aid asked, just as Ambulon had began scolding himself. No, he wasn’t okay, not after what they’d just done. But he didn’t say that.

“I’m tired, First Aid.” Ambulon grumbled instead and reached around his body, separating their shared connections before too much of his inner conflict could eek between the hardware bond. 

“Oh.” First Aid pulled himself flush against Ambulon’s warm frame. Now there was a leg snaking over Ambulon too, “Okay. We can talk tomorrow.” 

Ambulon agreed for the sake of making First Aid close his mouth and recharge. 

Soon after First Aid was breathing softly against him, twitching every now and then. Ambulon was still awake, optics wide, body stiff, there was now transfluid and lubricant splattered over his legs too, complimenting the marks Max had left there. 

_What have I done?! What have_ ** _I_** _done?!_

Ambulon didn’t think he’d want to talk tomorrow either. 


	21. Chapter 21

Hours later the doorbell was being rung. Ambulon was still wide awake and trapped under First Aid’s embrace. The nurse had pasted himself to Ambulon’s back, his arms and legs curled round Ambulon’s body, hugging him as close as possible. Ambulon could feel First Aid’s limp spike nestled beside his aft and it made him feel uncomfortable. It reminded him of what he’d done. 

There was no way he could convince himself that what had happened wasn’t real. He tried pinching his thighs and blinking, hoping to wake up and find out this had all just been one terrible dream. 

When Ambulon’s ventilation started to tremble and a lump began rising in his throat his subconscious instinct was to run to Max. He wanted someone to confide in, someone who had the patience for him and who would try to understand. But there was no way Max would understand this, not on top of everything else. Ambulon hadn’t _just_ burnt his bridges, he’d had destroyed any hope of returning to Maximus, totally and utterly defiled their precious trust by interfacing with another mech and what for?! He didn’t know why he’d done it! The feel of First Aid’s breath leaving behind damp patches of condensation on his flaky paint didn’t endear Ambulon it repulsed him! Everything in his mind was so terribly muddled it made Ambulon feel sick and empty.

As the door bell rung Ambulon resisted the urge to tear himself apart from First Aid. He lay perfectly still, rigidly so, and silent. Waiting for the sound to repeat and when it did First Aid stirred beside him, sleepily groaning. 

A sharp jab with the elbow jarred First Aid awake. He grunted, limbs twining tighter round Ambulon’s body. Ambulon had disturbed First Aid but he wasn’t awake, not until the door bell rang again at which point Ambulon offlined his optics and forced his breathing patterns to steady just to falsify sleep. 

Even when facing the wall Ambulon could feel First Aid _looking_ at him. It itched and when he stooped forward and pressed a fond kiss to Ambulon’s helm it took all of Ambulon’s will power not to flinch. 

_Uhhhg_. His tanks were churning and it would stop! 

Fortunately, First Aid disconnected and left the berth soon after, he didn’t hear the sounds of Ambulon’s relief over the shuffle of his peds tiredly tromping up to the door, making himself decent along the way. 

The door hissed open, the light of the corridor seeped into the room and Ambulon listened carefully. 

“Oh, it’s you.” First Aid didn’t sound pleased, drowsiness was being shelved in favour of vocal strength. Still with his optics offline, Ambulon’s brow creased. 

“Is Ambulon in?” 

_Frag_ , it was Fortress Maximus. 

Ambulon’s spark pulsed hard, his fuel pump thudded. 

“Uh.” First Aid was hesitating, casting a glance over to the medic recharging on _his_ berth. He looked back at Fortress Maximus’s furiously scowling face. First Aid feared being brutally shunted aside. There was no way he could compete with Maximus and the mech had already proven he wasn’t afraid to cause bodily damage. But then, just as First Aid’s lips started to tremble, his attention dropped to the broad orange streak spread across Fortress Maximus’s middle. It was bold and bright and ugly. First Aid’s trepidation started receding and waves of anger crashed into him. 

Fearless and scowling, First Aid stepped into the corridor, the door to the Hab Suite closed behind him. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?” Fortress Maximus was watching Ambulon’s shape, curled on the berth inside the room, leaning slightly to keep it insight as the door squeezed shut. Then his red stare dropped to First Aid, his lips twisted into a snarl.

“I need to speak with Ambulon.”

“He doesn’t need to speak with you.” 

Unwilling to be denied, Maximus tried to step round First Aid, fists clenched and ready begin hammering down the door but First Aid got in the way, again. 

“What’s this?” He pointed to the shameful scuff of orange paint. Max seemed to have forgotten it was there. Wincing and curling forward, Max covered it quickly.

“Please,” Fort Max stared at First Aid, expression deep and pleading, “ I _need_ to speak to Ambulon!” 

“And I said you don’t!” First Aid pressed forward, “ I know what you did! And I won’t hesitate to tell someone if you come near us again!” 

Fortress Maximus staggered back, overpowered by fear inflicted by this piddling Autobot.

“You do not understand!” Max yelped in protest, waving a fist. 

First Aid, unfazed, gestured to the security camera hovering at the end of the hall. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” He advised and Maximus glared at the prying eye of the camera lens, reluctantly slackening his hands.   

“P-please, it’s impor”-

“Just go away, Maximus.” First Aid snapped, impatient and uncompromising, growing more possessive over what he’d just claimed in the Hab Suite. “If Ambulon wants to talk to you I’m sure he’ll come find you, until then just leave him alone.” 

Max was still stuttering denials when First Aid slipped back into the hab suite. Locking the door behind him as a precaution. He waited until he heard Fortress Maximus’s heavy footsteps thudding down the corridor before retiring to the berth, connecting himself to the recharge adaptors and snuggled beside Ambulon again. 

As Ambulon felt the snake-like arm constrict round his waist his optics flickered online. 

“Who was that?” He asked quietly, feigning a tired slur. 

First Aid hummed against his shoulder plating, pressing reverent kisses along tense seams.

“Nobody important.” He sighed and cuddled Ambulon some more. 

Knowing that was a lie Ambulon didn’t say anything else. He shuttered his optics and continued over-thinking while First Aid returned to a comfortable recharge.

Ambulon shivered in disgust. 

It took another five hours before First Aid relocated to the medical bay for his day shift. Normally Ratchet arrived before him but today First Aid made a special effort to get there first.

“If I’m there early I can say I already dismissed you, he won’t know you missed some of your shift.” First Aid explained between sweet kisses.

Still pretending to be half asleep, Ambulon grunted an approval and thanks.

“I’ll see you later.” First Aid whispered, another kiss followed. Ambulon didn’t turn away from the wall, he just nodded, the stiffness remained in his limbs until after he heard the Hab Suite door slide shut. First Aid was finally gone and Ambulon could curl tightly round himself without bother. 

He didn’t let out the heavy emotions that had been building inside his chest all night. Instead he tried to pretend he was somewhere far away. 

He started drifting.

Despite a whole night of sleeplessness suddenly Ambulon found himself feeling drowsy. The temptation was strong and unbeatable. It lured him in with the idea that he’d be safe in recharge. His guilty conscience couldn’t find him there and so, Ambulon shuttered his optics, the darkness crept round him like a protective swath.

For a moment he was weightless, almost unburdened... but soon after, just as he settled in the peaceful, blameless corner of his mind Ambulon’s communication system abruptly jerked him awake, alerting him to an urgent message.

**[** _You’d better get down here :/_ **]** _  
_It was off First Aid which meant he could only be needed in one place.

Groaning, Ambulon peeled himself off the berth and discovered that he was aching all over, his circuits throbbed and the joints in his groin felt...damaged. He sat on the edge of the berth, hunched over with his face hidden in his hands. 

Ambulon pulled himself together quickly. If First Aid was messaging him personally in the middle of his off-sift it must have been important. As he headed for the door Ambulon caught sight of the many blue streaks overlapping the white paint on his legs. He hadn’t realised how bad it looked. Briefly, he paused, wondering if he could cover any of it up, but the angles he twisted to assess the damage caused him more pain. Ambulon winced. The after effects of the hardware interface were harder on him than some cosmetic residue. 

Before he left Ambulon steeled himself, stood straighter and with every careful step he took toward the medbay he struggled not to wobble. 

There were no alarms booming, no red lights flashing and, for now, no signs of carnage. But Ambulon wasn’t naive enough to think this wouldn’t be an emergency. At any moment he expected to see his worst nightmares come parading round the corner drenched in the fluid of his shipmates. 

Fortunately, those fears were dispelled. When he hobbled into the medical bay the room was oddly quiet. At once he saw First Aid loitering at the middle of the room, helm facing the floor, he looked embarrassed. 

“Glad you finally showed up.” Ratchet’s voice startled him. The doctor was standing behind him, he shut the door the moment Ambulon was inside. 

“What’s this about?” Amublon was torn between where to look. 

“Stand next to First Aid please?” Once Ambulon had done as commanded Ratchet spoke again, “It seems we have a situation.” 

“Where are the other patients?”

“I sent them packing, except for Whirl, I was hoping you could shed some light on that.”

_Oh no._ It was all over before it could begin. Ambulon shifted uncomfortably, knowing he could do nothing but accept the inevitable. He’d been caught by his CMO and Ratchet didn’t even know it yet. 

The thought stayed with Ambulon. He swallowed nervously as Ratchet came and stood in front of his staff, glaring. 

For now, to Ambulon’s relief, Ratchet attention was focused elsewhere. 

“There’s been a theft.” 

Ratchet waited the initial shock to subside before reeling off a list. The contents didn’t mean anything to him, they could just be random. Although it wouldn’t take him long to link the items to a patient suffering with depression and stress - there were many aboard the Lost Light. However, for First Aid and Ambulon who shared a familiarity with Fort Max, they at once recognised his unique proscription. 

“...but that’s not all,” Ratchet continued, taking a graver tone, “Most of the morphenite was lifted to.” 

It took all of Ambulon’s power to bottle the sounds of despair welling in his chest. Aside from being a heavy sedative Morphenite could also give a killer high if manipulated correctly. Even some circuit boosters incorporated Morphenite into their twisted chemical make up. Its effects were like the aftershock following a seismic quake. Like all corrupted medicine morphenite was dangerously addictive and prolonged use had disastrous health implications.    

“...and”- Ratchet gaze dropped to Ambulon’s thighs and he paused, squinting at the brazen marks like he did quiet understand and then, “hmmm.” He grunted, Ambulon wasn’t sure if it was in realisation, disappointment or just disgust. Probably all three successively. For now Ratchet withheld any scathing comments in favour of the present matter, “There’s no record of the meds being checked out and the medicine cabinet is intact with no sighs of forced entry meaning whoever took the meds must have had a key and considering there are only three of us and only three keys in circulation before I take this any further I want to ask: Do either you have anything you want to tell me?”

Even though Ratchet’s sights were burning into Ambulon it was First Aid that made the first cry of outrage.

“You’re not accusing _us_ of taking anything?!” 

“Not yet, but I have the access records for the cabinet.” 

“That doesn’t prove anything!” 

“Well actually, it does, it’ll prove who accessed the cupboard last, and when.” Ratchet gave them both a careful look, “Last chance to say something.” Because he didn’t expect a reply he wasn’t surprised when he didn’t receive one. While First Aid’s visor glinted, reflecting the glare of his optics hidden underneath, Ambulon fidgeted. Although he wasn’t guilty of anything except being absent his plating was hot and ticklish because he knew sooner or later Ratchet would- “Did you see anything, Ambulon?” ... do exactly that.

Ambulon jerked up, optics round, he must have looked terrified. He froze; then First Aid jabbed him gently with his elbow. That gave Ambulon a jolt, he stuttered slightly and ogled Ratchet as he fought for words. 

“I - I - I No. I didn’t see anything.” 

Ratchet snorted like he didn’t believe him. If Ambulon had been present all night he would’ve seen -something-. Slowly, Ambulon could feel his cover story unravelling without even being told. 

“Okay, First Aid, what were you doing last night?” Ratchet turned their med bay into an interrogation room, he paced back and forth, hands clasped behind his back and looked to be contemplating deeply as he fired questions. 

“It was my off shift, I went to Swerves and then I...recharged...” There was a lingering tone to the sentence, and the glance he shared with Ambulon was down right suspicious. Ratchet saw it and his glower deepened.

“Is there anyone who can confirm that.” 

Again, Ambulon’s ventilations stopped, he waited for First Aid to incriminate him for missing a shift. 

“Pfft, the mechs at Swerve’s yeah, they can tell you what time I left. Sir, I think you’re being really unfair”-

“The records say you accessed the cabinet last, First Aid.” 

Ambulon hung his head gravely.

“Impossible! I’ve lost my card key!”

“But you haven’t reported it?”

“I’ve been -meaning- to. I’ve been borrowing Ambulon’s... and yours...when you’re not looking.” He added quietly, knowing he’d done wrong. 

“Well that explains a lot.” Ratchet huffed in irritation, his voice sounded louder now, “Because the last person to access the medicine cabinet was you, First Aid.” 

First Aid’s optics grew, Ambulon shuttered his. 

“That’s- that’s, no! Someone’s stolen my card! Check the security footage, it wasn’t me.”

“It was me.” 

First Aid was ready to start spouting off more denials but stopped himself with a gulp. Annoyingly, Ratchet didn’t look surprised at all. Calmly he said,

“Ambulon?” Prompting the explanation behind the confession. 

“...I... I took the Morphenite.” 

“Ambulon!” First Aid shouted, incredulity and annoyance plain to see in his expression. 

“Why?” The solemness Ratchet cast out dampened First Aid’s bristly emotions. Ambulon shrugged. He looked at his feet. 

“It was just -there- ... I didn’t mean for it to get this far... I have a problem.” 

The silence lingered on and the weight of the lie labored Ambulon’s thoughts. He could so easily trip himself up. Once again he was covering for Fortress Maximus, without anyway of knowing it was Fort Max he was covering up for. Yet somehow, he was certain this was Max’s doing and it upset him that Max would jeopardize both their lives like this. 

A sigh filled the room breaking the tension. 

“Okay,” Ratchet was pinching the bridge of his nasal ridge, “We should carry this on in private. Go into my office Ambulon, I’ll be there soon. First Aid, this stays between us for now.” 

“Yes, Sir.” First Aid mumbled. 

Ratchet presumably helped First Aid prepare for morning practice before he joined Ambulon in his office. While Ambulon was alone in the room his spark quivered with the memory of what he and Fortress Maximus had done in here, on Ratchet’s desk, on the berth... 

Ambulon stood at the centre of room not touching anything. 

This... mess, why had he made it his problem? It was anyone’s problem but his. Somehow he couldn’t server himself from Fort Max, though he tried, the invisible thread he couldn’t cut was pulling him back in and with every turn of the reel Ambulon felt more stressed and caught under terrible strain. When Ratchet eventually entered Ambulon was massaging the stinging in his chest by pressing at it with his flat palm. Ratchet recognised his anxiety. The room was cool and dry but under Ambulon’s plates was hot and clammy; ironically just like an addicts. 

The door closed and Ratchet took a seat behind the desk. But as he started to speak Ambulon’s spark jumped. He’d spotted a scrape of orange paint ground into the surface of the desk. _His paint._ Off his aft... it must have been off his aft, he judged from the position. Ambulon couldn’t stop staring at it. Had Ratchet noticed? The longer he stared at the smear that seemed to be shrieking for attention the more knots Ambulon’s innards twisted into. 

“Primus, Ambulon what’s going on?” Ratchet leaned on the desk, hoping it would support him in this weary ordeal. He had no idea his elbow was resting just a fraction away from the unsightly orange fleck. It grew bigger with every second Ambulon watched it. 

Ambulon wasn’t sure if that was question he was supposed to answer because Ratchet wasn’t looking him. In his EM fields Ambulon sensed a tiredness Ratchet hadn’t bothered to disguise. Ambulon could oddly empathies with that.

“I’m really sorry.” Even though he tried to whisper it, in Ambulon’s audio’s his own voice sounded loud and full of mistruths. But Ambulon _was_ sorry, sorry for lying. 

“No, I’m sorry.” Ratchet frowned at him, “ Sorry for not catching it sooner.” He said it like the signs were all there and he’d simply failed to make the connections. This somewhat affronted Ambulon. Was his working impression that of someone who took and used drugs? Even though he wanted to stand up for himself Ambulon pressed his lips together tightly, chewing on all possible retorts. 

“Honestly, I was hoping it’d be Whirl... I could wrap my mind round that better, but you... I just don’t get it.”

Ambulon could hear the disappointment, it touched his plating and scarred him deeply.

“You know what this means?” 

“You’re going to report me.” Ambulon tried to straighten, to lift his chin and face his punishment directly. 

“I’m going to take your medical license.”

Horror filled Ambulon and he couldn’t control it, the fear bubbled up then flooded out of his mouth in a stressed, pleading, 

“No!”

The aging engines in Ratchet growled. 

“What did you expect?” He demanded sharply. Ambulon bit his gums, wanting to scream as his spark sank down and down into an abyss, “Unless there’s something you want to add?” 

“... _please.”_

“You framed First Aid, your own colleague.” The worse the situation became the angrier Ambulon got. He started to wonder when Maximus swiped First Aid’s key...when would he have had the opportunity? What was he thinking when he spoiled Ambulon’s career? Ratchet shook his helm, “How long’s this been going on?”

“...A while.” 

“That time I caught you taking Morphenite out of the cabinet was that for you?” 

Silence. 

“Primus, Ambulon. This... this is serious. How you’ve managed this long I just...” 

“I need this job, Ratchet.” Ambulon was quaking as he said it, so desperate to tear off the disguise and confess his theory of what happened but couldn’t. 

“You robbed my sick bay and...as you said, you have a problem. Ambulon, I’ll help you with it, but I have to tell Magnus eventually and you can’t keep working. Not as you are.”

“But”- Ambulon silenced himself. “...What should I do?” He forced a flat tone and looked extremely solemn. 

“Before you go, is there anything you want to add... anything at all. There’s no one here Ambulon, no one’s listening.” 

Ratchet looked expectant, as if this dreadful conversation had been a ploy to draw out the truth. But Ambulon remained resolute. 

“No, Sir.”

Ratchet’s vents billowed hot air and he sat back. 

Absently he started scraping at the skid mark of orange paint ingrained in his desk. Ambulon gulped. 

“Then I suggest you go. Get your head together while I decide what to do with you. I’ll contact you after I’ve spoken to Magnus.” 

The job he’d slaved for was being torn from his hands. A pressure was burning behind his optics and Ambulon tried inhaling deeply to disburse it before hurrying for the door. 

“Ambulon.” Ratchet said, struck by an afterthought as Ambulon was reaching for the door handle. Ambulon froze. “If I was to check the security tapes... would I see your hands in the cabinet?” 

For a moment, Ambulon’s eyes widened. Did Ratchet -know- it wasn’t him? Was this a hint, a threat to expose his scheme, or was he trying to help? Ambulon didn’t know. He was so flustered, he exited the room without a word and tried to escape the medical bay without running into,

“Ambulon?!” First Aid came bounding over to him, abandoning their first patient.

“Not now!” He stormed past First Aid, not even looking at him. In a furious cloud of bitterness and anger Ambulon headed for the Security Control Centre where he’d take care of the bread crumbs Fortress Maximus would’ve undoubtable left behind. 

 

 

-

 

Since Red Alert was rendered out of commission the standards of security had fallen enough for Ambulon to get what he needed with next to no hassle. The Security Control Centre was a boxy room full of monitors displaying footage from all over the ship. It was supposed to be manned at all times. So Ambulon prepared a story, a complex web of deceit to lure the mech on duty out of the room and away for a few minutes so he could find the video of the medicine cabinet captured during what was meant to be his duty shift. 

Being responsible for so many lies was turning Ambulon ill. His mind spun as he rehersed the story over and over but when he arrived at the Control Room, and poked his head inside, Ambulon almost cried out in relief to discover it was deserted. 

Inside was dark, just the faint light of the many, many, visual displays to illuminate the control panels stationed under the screens. Ambulon worked quickly, his hands moving faster than they would when performing a surgery. 

When he uncovered the time frame he required Ambulon couldn’t resist viewing it. But, being wary of how much time he had, Ambulon sped up the frame rate and removed the tension brought on by anticipation. There was a camera assigned specifically to the medicine cabinet, it cut out the rest of the med bay. The moment the flickering image revealed Fortress Maximus’s massive hands fishing into the cabinet Ambulon felt a lump creep into his throat.

So it was true. 

Ambulon considered walking out of the room at that moment, leaving the footage on display so everyone would know it was Fortress Maximus and not -him- . But frag him to the pit Ambulon just _couldn’t_ do that!

Fighting against his better judgment all the while, Ambulon took what he needed and fled. He managed to race down a few corridors before his legs suddenly became heavy and he veered into the nearest wall. 

Chest heaving, legs refusing to budge, the flash drive of footage clutched in his hand was covered in condensation and Ambulon was so very, very tired of this slag. 

Pushing himself off the wall he stumbled forward. Gulping down air, he gathered momentum again. 

Before long he was crashing into the door of Fortress Maximus’s habitation suite.

“MAX! OPEN THE FRAGGING DOOR!” Ambulon attacked the door, kicking and punching, the resounding clangour made someone pause at the end of the corridor and watch for a while. “MAX!”

“GO AWAY!” Maximus’s bellowing voice was only slightly muted by the wall between them. 

With a growl Ambulon squashed his audio on the door. Inside was eerily quiet, it was like trying to listen under water. Then, Ambulon thought he heard sounds of distress and panic pushed his hand toward the control pad. With urgency he inputted the emergency code. Ratchet obviously hadn’t disabled his position in the ship’s system yet if his codes still worked. The little light attached to the panel blinked green and finally the door whooshed open unleashing the calamity. 

Frowsy air struck Ambulon physically, like walking into a wall. It was humid inside and hot, were the ventilation systems not functioning properly? Overlaying the stench of stale air was another repugnant smell so vile Ambulon could feel coolant pressure welling behind his optics. 

He squinted into the gloom, as always the lights had been switched off but oddly the room wasn’t as dark as usual, he was given a fragmented view of a strange orb glowing near the centre of the room, but it was hanging close to the berth. Ambulon only figured out what it was after the door had closed behind him.

“Primus Max! Is that your _spark_?!” He realised Max was lying down, curled on his berth while his cooling fans dumped hot air out of his body, but the circulation in the room was so bad that all of Max’s efforts were having little effect. 

Naturally, Ambulon lunged forward, his medical impulses dominating how angry he was supposed to be. Along the way he stumbled over something stretched into his path reminding him that he couldn’t work in the dark.

“Lights: On!” The sudden flood of clarity made them both wince. Max gasped, the harsh light made his processor ache even more, his tired optics stung. 

“Oh frag Max...” Ambulon wished he hadn’t turned the lights on. A crushing despair made his tanks feel hollow. All around him was chaos and there, amidst the wreckage of work surfaces, an obliterated desk and scattered syringes was Whirl - bound and unconscious, “What’ve you done?” 

It was as if his processor had stalled, Ambulon hardly knew where to begin. Firstly he rushed over to Whirl. The Ex-wrecker was still alive, there was no irreversible damage as far as Ambulon could tell. Around Whirl were more syringes and an empty bottle of Morphenite, no doubt Max had used most of it on Whirl. The rest he’d apparently inflicted upon himself.  

“WHAT THE SLAG IS ALL THIS?!” Ambulon shrieked so loudly he made his own audios ring. Maximus flinched. Ambulon thought he might have been trying to sit up from the way he squirmed. Max only succeeded in rolling onto his back where the the muted green light of his exposed spark cast long shadows over his face. 

It dawned on Ambulon that his original assessment had been incorrect, although Max’s spark was visible and his protoform had been exposed by the removal of his bulky white chest plate, the circular aperture of Max’s spark casing was still covered in part by strong cuspid petals... they were badly damaged; the spark casing was the one part of his frame the medics of Delphi had been unable to replace. 

Ambulon stepped toward him carefully, dancing round wreckage, his eyes transfixed on the damaged casing. Some of the petals still curled together perfectly, most didn’t meet because they’d been bent out of shape which allowed gaps for involuntary access to his poor spark. There were runnels burned into the petals in long riverlike patterns where someone had splashed his chest with a strong acidic compound.

The damage extended further than what Ambulon could see on the surface. No part of Max had escaped Overlord, inside the spark casing was worse, it was corroded, his innermost energon had been tainted and, from being trapped in such an inhospitable space, the spark itself had distorted in shape and colour. 

“Oh Primus Max.” Ambulon’s arms hung heavily at his sides. The sight of the casing so mangled harrowed him. It took a really vile creature to spoil a spark. Fortress Maximus had the misfortune of meeting the vilest.

The anger in him was whitewashed by despondency, it would emerge again later undoubtedly, when Fortress Maximus tried to flog on him some pitiable explanation. 

Ambulon was still looking upon the twisted spark chamber with sadness as Max began to cough. 

The drug was thick in Max’s systems, his flittering chips were unable to cope with the volume. Stuck in delirium and hardly functioning Fortress Maximus wasn’t able to save himself from choking when a tank purge suddenly rushed up his throat. 

“Oh frag.” Ambulon dived forward, the flash drive forgotten in haste and flung across the room. Standing next to the berth was a bucket that had collected many earlier purges. Ambulon kicked it aside without thinking, it unfortunately toppled and the viscous pink fluid inside sloshed all over the floor and Ambulon’s feet. 

He didn’t have time to grimace. Ambulon was desperately trying to roll Maximus onto his side. The bitter regurgitated substance tricked down the back of Maximus’s throat and burned. Motor reflexes thrashed wildly, it was almost as if Max was fighting against Ambulon as he struggled to roll the larger mech. 

Max wheezed deeply and spluttered, spraying pearly foam and the rest drizzled from his lips. 

“Fortress, stay on your side!” Ambulon commanded. 

After several uncoordinated, frightened, half-numb grabbing actions made by Max’s arms he eventually found Ambulon’s legs and clung to them as tightly as he could. Which wasn’t that tight, his finger tips loosely hooked round the metal. 

Ambulon tried speaking with Maximus, overall he was unresponsive, is optics flickered, each time they lit up all Ambulon saw was panic. The quiver of his EM fields worried Ambulon’s own. This wouldn’t been the first time he’d seen a mech overdose. 

It might be the first time he’d see a mech die from an overdose if he didn’t call for help. 

But, then Ratchet would know his entire story was fabricated and with Whirl here as well Fortress Maximus would be thrown back in the brig for sure. 

Max gargled in distress. 

“Okay, okay.” Breathing quickly, Ambulon unspooled a hardline connection. Once he connected to Maximus he could assess the severity of the drug use, what systems were effected and whether or not Max would survive without further assistance. 

But a hardware connection meant the exchange of data; the liberal flow of information between Cybertronians. The spread of viruses... 

As Ambulon prepared to plug himself into the back of Maximus neck he started to shake. It took both hands, one to steady the other, to sink his pin into Maximus. 

With a one way feed it would be unlikely Maximus could transfer anything back to Ambulon. Unlikely but not impossible and, as of recently, luck had been fickle and absent. 

Gritting his denta, Ambulon plugged into Maximus. A strong feedback of violent static shocked them both. Maximus howled and tried to hide his face. 

Despite assessing Maximus’s condition with purpose, as Ambulon’s fear for Max’s life lessened, soon the uglier feelings of anger and resentment resurfaced. After being thrown from one extreme to the other Ambulon’s processor was a jumble and he wasn’t stable enough to cleanse the bond of his personal feelings.     

Max interoperated it in swirls of colour, a flashing of red fury and a blue spray of heartache, longing and despair that cut into him like an icy wind. 

“mm s-sorry...s-o ssssorry.” He slurred. 

With the threat of immanent danger defused Ambulon sank to his knees heavily, arms reaching out and cradling Maximus’s helm. 

Max would be alright, the results of Ambulon’s analyses promised that Max just needed to detox and recharge then the ordeal would be over.

Their foreheads connected with a clunk. 

“Primus, you scared me so much.” Ambulon whispered. Max’s systems were still whining loudly, attempting to regulate his baking core temperatures. He struggled to hold Ambulon and continued blubbering incoherently. 

Ambulon wished he could still be angry. His plating was peppered by flecks of sick, his fuel pump was pounding and he may have contracted the most uncomfortable strains of malware. But the strength to be furious was draining out of him leaving behind nothing but sadness, emptiness and relief. Considering all the trouble Fortress Maximus caused him, Ambulon was so thankful he was going to be okay... because as soon as he came around from his stupor Ambulon wanted answers. 


	22. Chapter 22

After a laborious night shift, Ambulon usually spent the following day recharging soundly. Today was different, he woke in fits regularly, disturbed by the enormous body sleeping beside him, drooling and grunting. 

Somehow he’d decided not to make the journey back to his own quarters. After he’d disconnected the hardware wire he’d been too weak to move. Instead of reporting his findings Ambulon wasted half the day sandwiched between Fortress Maximus and the wall. He told himself he remained in the room as a precaution, in case of another emergency and Max needed him. Ambulon blamed himself. He was responsible for this. Bitterly he regretted taking the seat opposite Maximus that night at the bar, the wash of anger tainted his EM fields. 

Then Maximus’s hand flinched around his. They been like that all morning, his hand was tiny compared to Maximus’s. Maximus could crush his fingers so he’d never be able to use them again. For now he was gentle, his hand loosely curled round Ambulon’s, almost child-like, like Max was afraid to let go.

Ambulon’s optics flickered online again, slowly. He was confronted by Fortress Maximus’s tired face. The mech was dreaming in his recharge, the lines of worry creasing and deepening with every twitch. 

It was hard to be angry when the room was so relaxed and their ventilations were so calm. Ambulon had nearly forgotten about Whirl, trussed up on the floor, tied by his arms and legs, thick cord banding his claws together. 

As Ambulon let the tension in his EM field’s ease, the frown pinching Maximus’s face also relieved a little. 

Still drowsy Ambulon shifted closer to Max, drawn in by the warmth of the larger mechs body and the glow of his spark. The green light pulsed steadily, Ambulon shouldn’t have been able to see the twirling ball of plasma even with the thick chest armour removed, the spark casing was meant to seal the spark inside its chamber - permanently out of sight until the Bond.

He wondered why Max had done it,why expose all the hideous damage? The longer Ambulon stared the worse it seemed to get. Pock marked, brittle, abused, Ambulon couldn’t imagine the pain. Even with all his other components renewed, smooth and shiny, this terrible reminder was still a part of Max’s body, never to be replaced. 

Very cautiously, the fingers on Ambulon’s unoccupied hand stretched out. He held them as close to the casing as he dared, too afraid to actually touch it but he imagined the uneven scores would feel rough under his finger tips. He traced the pattern of rivulets down Maximus chest, the channels carved by the strongest of acids. It would have been excruciating, the liquid would have oozed inside the chamber too. Ambulon caught glimpses of the damage each time Max’s spark contracted. It made his own spark shiver and it was upsetting to see.

An urge to console Maximus for his hardships compelled Ambulon to shimmy forward. He reached across Fortress Maximus’s body and held him. 

Maximus’s ventilations brushed across his plating, unlike First Aid they did not make Ambulon squirm. He breathed them in and sighed, his body confusing his mind into thinking he belonged here. As he eased closer the jagged shards of Max’s bent spark casing prodded Ambulon’s chest making it an inhospitable embrace but Ambulon clung on. 

Shuttering his optics again Ambulon savoured the feeling and started to tremble, knowing that despite his efforts to keep them both afloat even when they were apart, this was, ultimately, the end. 

It could have been hours of silence spent floating in and out of consciousness, twined together, but the spell broke. Max shifted, one arm rising to stroke over Ambulon‘s waist, his hand closing over Ambulon’s fingers and then Ambulon heard him whisper, deep and tired, 

“This must be a dream.” 

Ambulon kept his optics shut, he shifted further into Max’s arms, attempting to ignore the bent petals digging into his chest so as not to spoil the closeness. 

“I wish it was.” He breathed, “How’d you feel?” 

Maximus tilted his head down, rolling his chin over Ambulon’s helm until it met his lips.

“I’ll live,” He murmured, pausing briefly as if to steel himself, “I’ve done something terrible, Ambulon.”

Ambulon’s optics flickered online, their function was heavy with sadness, he focused on Maximus’s taught neck cables. 

“Why’d you do it, Max?”

The question prompted Fortress Maximus to swallow, Ambulon watched every piston, every artificial muscle contract in Maximus’s throat to accomplish the action. 

“On Garrus 9,” Max replied with hesitancy, “They gave me Morphenite t-to keep me calm, to... help me sleep.” He’d rather not confess aloud the dependency he developed on the drug over those years in captivity, how he’d debase himself to begging for it.

But he needn’t say it, Ambulon already knew. 

“I meant why... what made you?” 

With a heavy spark Ambulon pushed away from the warm body and propped himself up, glancing back at Max in time to see his expression twist with shame and he bit his lips.

“ _Why_ Max?”  

Maximus shook himself, the lull of recharge faded. 

“Because things have been getting worse for me and you didn’t even notice! You cut me off, left me alone!” The shout was twisted with sourness and pangs of betrayal, “I’m...I’m so _tired_ , tired of being low. That doesn’t make any of this right but it was the only thing I thought I could d-do to escape.” Ambulon wanted to defend himself but Max was still speaking even as his own hands reached up and tried to conceal his chest as if he was only now noticing he was exposed, “Sometimes I just like to check it was -real-.” His thumbs fiddled with the broken latches, “You medics did such a good job of masking the damage that, sometimes, even I have trouble believing it happened... when there’s no evidence left people just forget so easily and everyone thinks I’m a selfish, attention-seeking glitch! But it happened! I just want everyone to understand that it doesn’t go away!  I thought it would, if I could just get off my meds and back into a normal routine but it didn’t! I thought it would just _stop_ after Overlord was blown up... he’s still here, in my _head!_ He won’t leave and I can’t ignore him!” Fortress Maximus’s face twisted into a grizzly sob. Ambulon just sat there, absorbed in inner conflict fought between rushing the mech pouring his spark out and being more cautious of him. After all, he was still the same vicious mech that jumped him in the medical bay. The same mech that had robbed him of his job. 

“Ratchet knows the drugs are missing.”

It was all Ambulon could think to say. Fortress Maximus face rounded with genuine shock as if he really hadn’t expected to be caught. 

“I lost my job covering for you, Max, and I pulled the CCTV footage of the medicine cabinet, it’s over there.” 

“Primus Ambulon... frag I’m so”-

“Don’t!” Ambulon’s voice lowered, impeding Max’s blubbered apology as well as the outward gesture of his great big blue palm reaching for Ambulon’s face, “You hurt me, you took my job, you could’ve killed Whirl, you damn near killed yourself! Frag Max! I don’t know what to do with you!” 

Maximus’s sights then settled on the scuffs marking Ambulon’s thighs. Ambulon felt shame thicken in Max’s EM fields.

“I’ve fragged everything up.” 

Ambulon didn’t have the nerve to say what he was thinking but he couldn’t bare to listen to the mech suffer. 

“Stop it. I helped you, now I want to know what you’re going to do to help me.” 

Wondering what he could possibly do to redeem himself made Max confused. Shaking his helm, feeling that he had once again been made to do all the thinking and all the work, Ambulon clambered off the berth and retrieved Fortress Maximus’s chest plate from the floor. It was difficult to carry, the boxy metal was dense and awkwardly shaped.

“Start by putting this back on. I’m not trying to cover _you_ up, but we need to start somewhere, we’ve wasted enough time already.” 

Maximus accepted the panel, he made handling it look a lot easier than Ambulon did. 

“And tell me what happened with Whirl.” 

Fortress Maximus gulped, 

“Last night after I...” Guilt and shame choked off the words, Maximus looked at Ambulon then looked away, “Whirl caught me stealing. He was going to tell Ultra Magnus so I brought him back here _somehow_ ,” He said it like it had been an ordeal, “and he wouldn’t shut up, I was worried someone might hear him so I shut off the vents to try and stop the noise from spreading...” 

“How much Morphenite did you give him?” It was becoming Ambulon’s main concern, if Fortress Maximus couldn’t regulate the right dosage for himself who knows how much he’d inflicted on Whirl. It wasn’t often Ambulon had the chance to treat victims of empurata, he wasn’t sure how their systems responded to a critical dose of Morphenite. Even if Whirl seemed stable when Ambulon had checked again last night before crawling onto the recharge slab next to Max, he had no way of knowing how this would effect Whirl or when he was due to wake up. 

“Didn’t give him any.” His fingers fumbled, his lost his grasp on the chest plate and it slid out of alignment. “I meant to... but I didn’t need to.”

“You...you didn’t?” Puzzled, Ambulon swung round and studied Whirl’s battered, unconscious frame. An explanation came quickly to him and Ambulon groaned, “You beat him unconscious.” 

It just kept getting better and better. Maximus stopped working with his chest plate, he hung his head and said nothing but Ambulon knew his guess was right.  

After saying quite for another regretful moment, Fortress Maximus started to pull on his chest piece again.

“I don’t know what I’m the most sorry for.” 

It was too late to be apologetic. Ambulon didn’t know whether to be glad Fortress Maximus hadn’t used the Morphenite to sedate Whirl or not. It didn’t change anything. They were still stuck in the worst of predicaments. 

With a sigh Ambulon stepped forward and helped Max couple the links of his armour and patted the chest plate firmly until it locked into place with a loud _click_. 

“Me too. I let you down and I let it get this bad... Primus, I should’ve listened to Rung.” 

“No,” Maximus grabbed at Ambulon’s hands. To him, the idea of stealing away all their experiences together was unthinkable, “Then none of this would have happened and,” His optics stuck on the unsavoury marks he’d left on Ambulon again, this time on the dents in Ambulon’s hip where he’d squeezed too tightly. He revised his meaning, “...Maybe it would’ve been for the best. I’ve caused you so much trouble.” 

Ambulon’s hands moved from Max’s chest and cupped his face, meeting Max’s defeatism with care. 

“You were worth it. I was selfish and frightened and I shouldn’t have left you in the state I did. I thought I was doing right by you... if I could take it back,” Talking soon evolved into hugging.

“I don’t want to be here anymore. If we could just take a shuttle and go”-

“We can’t, Max.” 

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because we both have millions of years of our lives left, we can’t spend them living as fugitives.” 

But they could both dream of it and, as they imagined, they sighed and leaned closer hands gliding over shoulders and reaching for helms and - Max’s fingers tugged on something at the back of Ambulon’s neck...

“What’s this?” The fantasy was forgotten, between Max’s fingers ran the length of the data cable Ambulon had used to connect the two of them last night. As Ambulon explained it’s purpose Maximus’s face filled with alarm. 

“Y-You connected to me?!” 

Ambulon nodded, 

“But that’s not, I’m, you can’t _do_ that!” But Ambulon had already done it, right now he could be seething with viruses, they could be in his innermost energon, in his fuel pump, his cistern, his interface equipment dividing and replicating, “You have to see Ratchet, _now_!”

“It doesn’t matter if I get there now or later, it won’t change anything.”

“But... w-why, _why?!_ Why would you do this?!” 

“I thought you were dying.” Ambulon put it so simply, as if Max’s life was worth so much more than his own. 

Suddenly, Max was overcome by too many feelings and kissing Ambulon hard. Shock took over the mech in his arms and Ambulon turned limp, “You’re so fragging stupid! Do you even realise what you’ve done?!” Max was gripping him tightly, on the verge of shaking. 

Ambulon shrugged, he to had questioned himself and after intense reflection Ambulon came up with just one reason even if it was unjustified. 

“Yes. And I did it because I love you.” 

It hurt. 

It hurt to confess. It strained Ambulon’s spark. 

Max looked awed. 

It hurt him too... a strange sensation full of barbs twisted his insides. How could Ambulon... after what he’d done. It felt wrong, and scary too. Like they were both in too deep. 

In Max’s silence Ambulon whimpered. It was quiet, he must have been trying to hide it. 

Gently, Max pulled Ambulon back into his arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, _I’m sorry_. I’ll put all of this right, I swear... I promise, Ambulon, I...” Fortress Maximus exhaled and let the sigh deflate his body and gravity act so that his forehead touched Ambulon’s, “Go and see Ratchet. _Please._ Get your self checked out first then tell him everything that’s happened... the _truth,_ tell them to come get Whirl and then after you’re done go to Swerve’s.”

“Swerve’s?”

“Just please do it! Sit at the bar and relax, I promise, by the time today’s over I will have made it okay. All of it.” The same confession he held back and pressed his lips on Ambulon’s helm to keep it shut inside. He only released Ambulon after hearing him mutter a shaky confirmation. 

Max nodded. 

“Okay.” He let Ambulon’s hands slide out of his expecting the other mech to leave as urgently as he’d implied not to lean forward and extend another kiss. 

It was longer and less rough, not deep but special in a sad sort of way. Both had their optics closed and breathed deeply while their sparks ached for each other. It was a tenderness they both hoped never to forget. 

Then Ambulon was pulling away and hurrying out of the room, not looking back and Fortress Maximus watched him go for as long as he could before the door slid shut. 

 

 

The journey to the medical bay was longer than he ever remembered. Ambulon’s feet failed him, dragging with every step, at this pace he’d never reach the finish line but even never seemed too soon. 

The ache in his spark preoccupied him when he tried to think of what he could say. Even with the truth revealed it was unlikely Ratchet would reinstate him and Ambulon accepted that outcome solemnly. Maybe he deserved this. He should’ve know better. Doctors and patients weren’t supposed to mingle. Ambulon had broken and reinforced the golden rule of doctor/patient relations simultaneously. 

He was a fool. 

Always trying his best and always making the wrong decision. 

Inside he felt cold and lonely. Detached from Maximus, with no way of knowing what the mech was planning to do.

But Ambulon kept stumbling along the path to the med bay, fighting to find the right words to somehow fix everything. 

“Oh... oh dear.” 

Ambulon had been so deep in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed Tailgate appear in the junction ahead of him until the little minibot started to sniffle. 

He approached Tailgate cautiously. Tailgate was rushing back and forth, contemplating each direction with deep consideration and despair, his tiny fingers wiggling.  

“Tailgate?” 

Ambulon swooped in from behind, leaning forward and accidentally startled the fretting little mech. 

“Oh! H-Hello umm,” He gazed up at Ambulon with some sort of vague recognition then returned to glancing down the corridors and muttering little worried curses. 

“Is everything alright?” Ambulon stood in the junction watching Tailgate dash about. 

“Umm, I...I seem to have gotten a bit lost.”

“Lost?” Ambulon confirmed with incredulity, squinting like he didn’t understand, “Where are you going.” 

“Well I’m supposed to be meeting Cyclonus on the observation deck.” 

That made Ambulon frown. 

“That’s ten floors up from here.” How could anyone make that mistake?

“Is it?” 

Ambulon nodded but Tailgate still looked lost and it was starting to pique Ambulon’s concern. 

“Where are you going Tailgate?” Ambulon asked again, _remembering_. This time the minibot stared at him with a round, watery visor. 

“I... I don’t know,” Tailgate was close to wailing, he wracked his processor but it was uncooperative, “Cyclonus is going to be so angry with me!” He sniffed, “I can’t remember.” 

Ambulon crouched down, kneeling in front of Tailgate and offering him a hand to take. 

“Don’t worry, Tailgate, we’ll find him.” 

Tailgate stopped rubbing at his visor and accepted Ambulon’s hand. 

“T-Thank you.” He sniffed again, and let Ambulon guide him down the corridors, “Do you work here?” 

Ambulon indulged the innocent questions, all the while concern grew inside him. The journey passed quicker with Tailgate in tow. He took him to the medical bay, leading him along like a lost child. 

As soon as they entered the med bay First Aid spotted them and Ambulon was reminded of his initial purpose. He swallowed and suppressed the shakiness from his limbs.   

“Ambulon?” First Aid crept forward with caution, obviously wary of being snapped at again. Ambulon didn’t encourage him over but the nurse came anyway. “Tailgate.” He added to be polite as he arrive in front of them. 

Tailgate ogled First Aid like it was his first time meeting the nurse. 

“First Aid, I think Tailgate here needs some assistance, he’s feeling a bit forgetful.” 

First Aid could tell Ambulon didn’t want to talk about what transpired that morning. His frown lingered on Ambulon’s face before he bent down and spoke to his new patient. 

“You feeling alright Tailgate?” 

“Yes!” He chirped, perfectly coherent and fine, almost bringing Ambulon’s judgment into question again. “Ambulon was just showing me around. It’s a very lovely ship... when will Nova Prime get here?” 

First Aid was taken aback, he gaze flickered between Ambulon and the delusional minibot.

“N-Nova Prime?” 

“You’ll have to forgive my colleague. Tailgate, He’s new to the ship,” Ambulon cut in with a friendly smile, “Sometimes he even forgets the ship’s name!” Ambulon said it like it was incredible.

“Who could forget the Ark 1?!” Tailgate was beaming, his EM field’s glowed with excitement. 

“Oh, _oh!_ Of course!” First Aid straightened, “I remember now. If you just wait over there Tailgate, Nova Prime will be here shortly.” Tailgate wandered over to the first medical berth. He eyed it and made a few attempts to hop on but after three successive failures he chose to wait beside it instead. 

“It’s Cybercrosis!” Ambulon hissed in First Aid’s audio as he followed the nurse over to the diagnostic equipment, “I diagnosed him with it _months_ ago, _Ratchet_ ”- Ambulon spat the name like poison, “...dismissed my opinion! We need to take a sample of his Innermost Energon to see how far along in the stages he is, if he’s losing his memory I’d say it’s getting pretty bad!”

First Aid rounded on Ambulon sharply. 

“The sample vials are kept in the Medicine Cabinet which I don’t have access to because _someone_ stole my keycard!” First Aid snapped in front of Ambulon’s nose. 

“Then where’s Ratchet?” 

“Out on a call.”

“What about my key will it still work?” 

“No! No I‘m not letting you use it!” 

Ambulon expression scrunched in disbelief. 

“What?!” 

“I’m not giving you access to the cabinet so you can sneak more Morphenite to Fortress Maximus.” 

“ _What?!_ ” Outrage and intolerance made Ambulon lose his patience. 

“I tried comm-ing you, _seven times,_ I know you were with him. He ruins you and you still go crawling back! What the frag is wrong with you?!” Never mind that First Aid considered this to be something of a betrayal. Just when First Aid finally thought he’d staked his claim, Ambulon had snuck away. 

“You messaged me?” Ambulon hadn’t received any internal alerts. Frowning, he checked his inbox manually and soon enough discovered the backlog of unread messages. It wasn’t unusual for preoccupied mechs to neglect their communication relays but Ambulon feared his lapse in alertness was an effect of the malware growing inside him.  He shrugged it off enough so that his apprehension wouldn’t effect his EM fields and turned toward the Medicine Cabinet. 

His keycard was still on his possession from last night, he dug it out of a compartment and used to it unlock the cabinet despite First Aid’s endless yakking in his audios ordering him to stop.

Ambulon removed the vials and pressed them in First Aid’s animated hands. He handed over his keycard too. 

That made First Aid shut up. 

The cabinet door swung shut behind them and the latch clicked. 

Not saying much First Aid and Ambulon returned to Tailgate and coaxed him into co-operating with the tests. 

“It’s required of all the crew.” First Aid explained as he offered Tailgate three vials into which he was required to deposit equal amounts of his Innermost Energon. It was rattling for the little ‘bot to have so many strange requests asked of him and to be poked and prodded by a nurse he’d consciously only just met. 

The moment a wave a trepidation touched Ambulon’s EM fields he extended a comforting hand and placed it on Tailgate’s shoulder. To distract the minibot from all the daunting examination Ambulon busied him with chatter. Fortunately Ambulon didn’t have to say much. He’d never been very good at small talk. But Tailgate passion for chatter was one characteristic he hadn’t forgotten. 

As they waited for the results of the many tests, Tailgate babbled on without much prompting. First Aid and Ambulon offered little input. Ambulon’s hands had subconsciously curled over his abdomen, rubbing the worry away. 

Ratchet’s absence gave him more time to think but he still didn’t know what to say. 

If he had contracted malware it was only a matter of time before he started to feel its effects. Every twinge his body made Ambulon expected to develop into something worse. 

“Oh no.” First Aid’s grave muttering broke Ambulon’s concentration. He joined the other medic at a work station where First Aid was matching the colour of indicator  paper dunked in Tailgate’s fluids to the information given by a text book. 

“Cybercrosis.” Ambulon muttered. There was no mistaking it. 

“He’s lucky you caught it.” 

A different brand of anger burned in Ambulon. It could’ve been caught and maybe _treated_ much sooner. Yes, there was no cure but they could have done _something!_   Ratchet knew very well how essential time was to a patient suffering with the disease and he’d willingly dismissed it. Ambulon had never been so miserable about being right. 

He couldn’t bring himself to look at Tailgate. The sense of failure biting him was unbearable. 

“When Ratchet gets back tell him I’m in our office. Tell him I want to speak with him.” 

First Aid was too astounded by the discovery of Cybercrosis to defy him. Ambulon trudged across the room and fell into his office grabbing some clean diagnostic tools along the way. A syringe, more indicator paper and some other essentials needed for an energon screening.

“ _Frag!_ ” Inside his office he beat both fists on his desk once, the veneer spit under his knuckles. 

_He was right, he was right, he. was. right!_

Cybercrosis.

Tailgate was dying. 

Ambulon sat down on the floor, slumped against his desk, feet stretched out in front of him and the tools for taking energon at his side. 

If only he’d not been so cowardly. If he’d just stood up to Ratchet, if he’d made Tailgate take the tests the first time maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

Eventually Ratchet arrived. He pushed into the room without knocking. Ambulon was still on the floor, hands clutching the testing apparatus. He’d lost track of time. 

He frowned down at Ambulon and Ambulon glared right back. 

“You’re not shooting up in here are you?” 

Ambulon’s lips quivered. He tried to remember what Fort Max told him to do and focus on that but he couldn’t. 

“Frag you.” 

Ratchet didn’t look taken aback or annoyed and that really riled Ambulon.

“Tailgate’s dying!”

“Cybercrosis, I heard.” He said more gravely. 

“Did you? Because you didn’t seem to hear the first time I told you!” 

“Well...well that is...regrettable.”

“OH! _Oh!_ Well thank you _Sir_ for your impeccable hindsight!”       

“Calm down, Ambulon.” 

Saying so had the opposite effect. Ambulon staggered to his feet, his fist still holding the apparatus he’d carried in with him, it drew Ratchet’s attention.

“Don’t tell me to”- 

“What’s that for?” 

Ambulon froze. His hands tightened and his knuckles creaked. 

This was it. 

Apprehension overcame anger in Ambulon and Ratchet waited patiently, arms crossed, tapping one foot. So all-knowing.

“Can you not?” 

“Tell me what’s happening, Ambulon.” 

“I’m _trying,_ I...” _Primus, help him,_ here he goes, deep breath,“I didn’t steal from the Medicine Cabinet, but I know who did.” Again Ratchet’s omniscience lessened the value of Ambulon’s turmoil. Somehow he managed to continue without snapping, “I just wanted to protect him... he’s holding Whirl in his quarters because Whirl caught him stealing the meds.”  

“Does this mech have a name.”

“Fortress Maximus.” 

Ratchet sighed. It was one of the worst answers Ambulon could give. 

“I - I know he’s a patient and...and I know it’s wrong but he and I started seeing each other and”-

“Did he do that to you?” Ambulon shuttered his optics and nodded, knowing Ratchet was pointing at the damage bowing his legs.

“Last night.” 

“Sit down Ambulon.” Ratchet pulled up a chair from behind First Aid’s desk and brought it over to Ambulon’s. Ambulon slumped into the chair on the opposite side of the surface, laying the diagnostic tools in front of him. 

Ratchet took them up and started prepping.

“How long’s it been going on for.”

“A...a while.” 

“Has he done this to you before?”

“No. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Ambulon! He’s damaged you.”

“I deserved it.” 

Ratchet slammed his palm against the desk. The sound made Ambulon jump. That attitude was unacceptable and Ratchet wouldn’t stand for it. 

“Put your arm on the desk.” As soon as Ambulon had cooperated Ratchet was sinking the needle into one of Ambulon’s fatter energon veins. It didn’t hurt but the sensation still made Ambulon hiss. Ratchet was hardly gentle, “What are you talking about? Why blame yourself?” 

Ambulon was still wincing while he spoke.

“Because I tried to end it with him, after what happened in the cargo bay... Max didn’t like it.” 

“That’s not an excuse.” 

“But maybe if I’d stuck with him this wouldn’t be happening.” 

“Or maybe it would’ve happened anyway.” Ratchet introduced the indicator paper to Ambulon’s sample and then to a chemical solution. The comment stung Ambulon. It inferred that, no matter, what he did, it would end in despair. 

“You mean like Tailgate’s Cybercrosis. It would’ve happened anyway why does it matter when we diagnosed it.” 

Ratchet sat back with a sigh. 

“What do you want me to say? Sorry?” 

“This isn’t about being _sorry_. This is about taking responsibility! I was right and you ignored me! I want to know why you didn’t listen?!”

“People make mistakes.” It was an imperfect response. Ratchet could be wrong. Just like Ambulon, “Ambulon. You are a bright mech, but you spend so much time trying to please everybody that it affects your decisions. Don’t tolerate being pushed around, you’re better than that.” 

That was the kind of praise only First Aid usually received. Ambulon felt gifted and it somehow triggered something inside him. Before Ambulon could control himself his ventilations started hiccuping. 

“I just wanted everything to work out.” He said truthfully, Ratchet’s expression resembled something uncharacteristically sympathetic, “ Even after he cost me my job I just couldn’t stay away. I was afraid he’d do something stupid and he did. He took the Morphenite... I thought he was going to die! I wanted to call someone but if I did I knew he’d be thrown in a brig so I tried to deal with it myself and... I used a hardline connection.”   

“Well you were lucky,” Ratchet removed the indicator paper from the solution and flicked it once, “Your results are all clear.” 

Ambulon had to see the indicator for himself before he could believe what Ratchet had said. He snatched it out the old medics hands, his optics frantically searching for some kind of false negative. But it was true. Ambulon was fine.  Every supporting joist in him felt like it had liquified and Ambulon gasped in relief. 

“Primus.” He crumpled onto the desk, head buried in his arms while Ratchet cleared away the testing kit. 

“So what now?”

Ambulon had been entombed by his malware crisis he hadn’t give much thought to anything else, until what Fortress Maximus told him resurfaced and Ambulon responded with absolute certainty.

“Now? Now I’m going to Swerve’s.” 

 

 

Of course Ratchet hadn’t approved. As Ambulon prepared to leave the office the CMO made it abundantly clear that he would have to report Fortress Maximus for everything he’d done and Ambulon would most definitely have to provide a statement. 

Ambulon already knew he’d have to do that. There was no escaping it. The only place he’d find some solace was at the bottom of a tall, cool cube of ‘the strong stuff’. 

He ordered that at the bar as soon as he arrived and finished it quickly then beckoned Swerve over and asked for another. 

His and Maximus’s favourite table was empty. Ambulon considered sitting at it but ultimately couldn’t persuade himself to move. 

Sitting at the bar attracted a lot of attention, Ambulon soon discovered. The crowd of mechs populating the clusters of tables blended together into one shape with many faces that Ambulon sometimes caught glancing at him. No doubt they wondered why he was drinking alone. Ambulon couldn’t care less. He’d quenched his thirst and, by extension, his need to loosen up by the time he’d made it half way through his second cube. 

Ambulon sat back against the bar, surveying the room when it suddenly dawned on him, he had no idea what he was doing here. 

Fortress Maximus had told him to go to Swerve’s, he never specified why and Ambulon had just gone along with it because his thoughts were too haywire to offer an alternative. By now Ratchet was probably ransacking Max’s hab suite alongside Ultra Magnus. Ambulon pictured Rung in the vague distance looking upon the scene with the kind of disappointment that made others feel guilty.    

Shaking his head, he turned back to his drink where, out of the peripherals of his vision, Ambulon noticed a hulking blue shape appear in the doorway. 

Ambulon looked up immediately. Staring at Max, wondering what he was doing here and not on his way to brig. 

Tension held the room in a vice-like grip. As always, when Fort Max arrived his audience hunkered down for a spectacular show. 

For once, he planned not to disappointment them. 

Ambulon swallowed nervously. Fortress Maximus stared at him sorrowfully then looked away, and when he turned back he was an entirely different mech pushing forward in long, powerful strides, cutting the distance between them. 

“ _Ambulon!”_ He bellowed, expression darkening like thunder clouds. Ambulon turned rigid in his seat, “The frag do you think you’re doing?!” 

“Max?” As Fortress Maximus stormed toward him, Ambulon’s growing worry was visible for all to see. 

“Where’ve you been?!”

“I-I In the med bay.” The shock of being screamed at was almost too much for Ambulon, he hardly remembered how to speak. 

“Lair!” 

Ambulon glanced about the bar, of course, everyone was watching. Fortress Maximus’s hand jerked out, squeezing his arm a little too tightly, “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Dazed and frightened, Ambulon gawked at Max, not sure what he’d done to deserve this and in public too. 

Suddenly, there was someone intervening, someone with a lot of nerve. Skids. 

“Hey, Max why don’t you ease off him a little bit...” 

“Back off!” Fort Max rounded on Skids, snarling madly, “This isn’t your problem. Mind your own fraggin’ business.” 

“ _Max!_ ” Ambulon squawked, reaching out, “Please don’t!” 

Fortress Maximus paused and looked between them. 

“What is this? Is there something going on here that I should know, Ambulon?!” 

“No, nonono.” 

A slimy, accusatory shake of Maximus’s helm told Ambulon he was in danger, and maybe so was Skids. 

“Alright, Max, that’s enough. Leave him alone.” Skids got a little more forceful while the rest of the bar looked on in horror. 

“Why, you gunna make me?” 

Ambulon didn’t know what do to. But just as it looked as if it was all coming to an ugly, ugly head,

“Fortress Maximus,” Ultra Magnus appeared in the doorway, besides him was Ratchet and, strangely, Perceptor, “You’re under arrest.” 

Fortress Maximus didn’t put up a fight, he actually smiled, even when Ultra Magnus was reading him his charges. 

Ambulon’s fuel pump was pounding, his jaw hanging slack. The entire room bounced when Ultra Magnus grappled with Fortress Maximus and pinned him to the bar in order to slap a pair of cuffs round Max’s wrists. 

Speechless, Ambulon still stared. 

The abuse Fort Max had been hurling was buried away, his aggression suppressed with acutely exercised control. 

Fortress Maximus winked at Ambulon just before Ultra Magnus hauled him upright and marched him out of the bar.

There was no explanation, no goodbye. The attempted assault seemed so surreal to him that Ambulon still followed Max instinctually. But shortly after he’d hopped of the stool he felt his knees give way and Ambulon was forced to grope for the nearest chair. The bar was still watching him and that made everything worse. Even after Ultra Magnus and his company had taken Max away the attention lingered.

From their perspective, the life Ambulon suffered under the control of Fortress Maximus must have really looked terrible. He wanted to plead with them to understand that wasn’t the case, but even then he’d appear as the brainwashed victim. 

“Ambulon?” A very soft voice accompanied the gentle hand settling over his shoulder. Finally Rung had appeared, “Would you like to sit down?” Rung stepped aside and Ambulon readily fell into the chair. Too bewildered to support himself. 

Rung planted himself in the seat opposite. While Ambulon sprawled, Rung remained as prim and professional as ever. He sat neatly in his seat ready to begin issuing the counseling that Ambulon _did not want!_

“Before coming here, Fortress Maximus paid me a visit.” This wasn’t the conversation Ambulon was expecting. Part of him still expected Rung to explode with a chorus of _I told you so_ ’s and start bouncing round the room, “He was very flustered and very upset with himself. And he told me you were responsible for that... for being...well the words he used aren’t really appropriate for repeating but what he meant was”-

“Say them.” Ambulon closes his eyes and steeled himself for a maelstorm of insults. 

Rung complied with reluctance, uttering the tasteless words,

“For being: The only mech in the fragged up universe to give a slag about him and he thanked you by pissing on you unapologetically... I suppose what he meant was, he didn’t show enough appreciation for all you’ve done and he’s sorry. He wanted to ask if you’d still be willing to visit him every now and then in the brig.” 

Thoroughly perplexed Ambulon sat in silence and let Rung continue, 

“It’s entirely up to you... I was unaware he was planning such a... public soirèe. If I’d know I wouldn’t have allowed it. I can only imagine what he hoped to achieve by it.” Ambulon was still struggling to wrap his mind round Max’s way of thinking as well, “I will still be giving him routine therapy but... I think it might help him more if you were still willing to be his friend.” At this point Ambulon was nodding along numbly, but being called a friend of Fortress Maximus stirred his spark.   
Rung continued, this time more along the lines Amublon expected,   
“Furthermore, in relation to yourself, if you ever want to talk you know where I am.” 

Feeling started creeping back into his extremities, Ambulon’s hands started to shake so he hid them under the table quickly.

“I’ll think about it.” He replied, an overall blank expression glazed his face. His processor hardly registered Rung excusing himself from the table and soon after the instance of piece was ruined by another hand clapping down on his shoulder.

Ambulon flinched. 

“Slag mech!” It was Swerve, “You’re having a rough one. Take as much time as you need but when you’re ready, get your aft over there and have a couple of drinks on the house. It will help settle you down.” 

_And give you something to gossip about._ Ambulon thought resentfully but when he saw his friends looking across at him anxiously from their table Ambulon found it hard to meet their concern with scorn. Skids had returned to them, from somewhere he’d managed to find a chair that wasn’t bolted to floor. It was pulled up close to the table and waiting for Ambulon. They’d never been so welcoming toward him when they thought he was taking advantage of Max... 

“Yeah, soon.” Ambulon dismissed Swerve with a weak smile. He decided he would join them, eventually, when his nerves quietened and his legs wouldn’t slide from under him. But, for now, it was just Ambulon, sitting alone, watching the doorway expectantly for Maximus even though he knew tonight and every other night from now on was just going to be him and an empty seat. 


End file.
